UC-NRLF 


pOUR  YEARS 

OF 

^JOVEL 

READING. 


$B    275    M3ft 


|\/\OULTON. 


D.  a  Heath  &  Co.,  Publishers. 


LIBRARY 

OF  THE 

University  of  California. 


^10 

Class    h^lZ'J 


FOUR  YEARS   OF  NOVEL 
READING:  an  account 

OF  AN  EXPERIMENT  IN  POPU- 
LARIZING THE  STUDY  OF 
FICTION 


EDITED,  WITH  AN  Introduction,  by 
RICHARD  G.  MOULTON,  M.A., 
Ph.D.  Professor  of  Literature  in  Eng- 
lish  IN  THE  University  of  Chicago 


FOURTH  THOUSAND 


BOSTON,  U.S.A. 
D.  C.  HEATH  &  CO.,  PUBLISHERS 
1903 


^r^^ 


Copyright,  1805, 
By  R.  G.  Moulton. 


ELECTBOTYl'lNti   BY  C.  J.  PETEB8  &  SON,  BOSTON,   U.S.A. 

Pkesswosk  by  S.  J.  Pakkhlll  Ss.  Ca 


CONTENTS 


Intkoduction:  The  Study  of  Fiction 1 

By  Professor  11.  G.  Moulton. 

The  "  Backworth  Classical  Novel-Readixg  Union  "     .     17 
By  its  Secretary,  Mr.  John  U.  Barrow. 

Four  Years'  Work  Done  by  the  Union 29 

Representative  Essays  :  — 

Why  is  Charles  Dickens  a  More  Famous  Novelist 
THAN  Charles  Reade  ? 43 

By  Miss  Ellen  Cumpston. 

The  Character  of  Clara  Middleton 59 

By  Mr.  Joseph  Fairney. 

The  Ideal  of  Asceticism 75 

By  the  Rev.  C.  G.  Hall. 

Character  Development  in  "Romola"      ....     91 
By  Mr.  Thomas  Dawson. 


154973 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2007  with  funding  from 

IVIicrosoft  Corporation 


http://www.archive.org/details/fouryearsofnovelOOmoulrich 


INTRODUCTION 


THE  STUDY  OP  FICTION 

Fiction  may  be  described  at  the  present  time  as  just 
succeeding  in  living  down  a  prejudice.  It  is  now  looked 
upon  as  a  worldly  and  frivolous  thing.  But  the  time 
has  been  when  it  would  have  been  accounted  by  many 
to  be  sinful.  Most  of  us  are  old  enough  to  recollect  the 
time  when  a  schoolboy  would  have  his  stock  of  story- 
books confiscated  by  his  teacher,  while  a  schoolgirl 
might  find  heiself  sent  to  bed  for  the  offence  of  being- 
caught  with  a  novel.  Now  our  graver  moralists  go  no 
farther  than  an  affectionate  warning :  they  will  not  con- 
demn fiction,  they  will  not  judge  others;  but  if  their 
young  friend  wishes  to  make  the  best  use  of  his  time  he 
will  leave  novel-reading  to  the  idle,  and  restrict  himself 
to  literature  founded  on  fact.  I  am  afraid  that  if  I 
were  called  upon  for  an  affectionate  warning,  it  would 
run  the  other  way.  It  is  good  to  make  our  reading 
catholic  ;  but  if  my  young  friend  be  straitened  in  leisure 
and  opportunity,  I  would  counsel  him  to  leave  to  more 
fortunate  persons  the  literature  that  limits  itself  by  fact, 
and  make  the  best  of  his  time  by  going  straight  to  the 
world's  great  fiction. 

I 


2  FOUR    YEARS  OF  NOVEL-READING, 

If  ever  there  might  have  been  doubt  about  such  coun- 
sel, it  has  ceased  to  be  doubtful  in  the  present  day. 
Our  great  masters  of  the  novel  have  been  legion :  from 
Miss  Edgeworth  and  Jane  Austen  to  George  Eliot, 
Dickens,  Thackeray,  Reade,  Kingsley,  not  to  speak  of 
the  crowd  of  living  novelists,  some  of  whose  master- 
pieces will  not  yield  in  rank  even  to  the  works  of  the 
greatest  masters.  Of  the  trinity  who  make  the  Bii  Ma- 
jores  of  our  modern  epoch,  Tennyson  deals  largely  with 
fiction ;  Browning's  way  is  to  weave  a  fictitious  atmos- 
phere about  a  mere  kernel  of  fact ;  while  William  Morris 
—  our  English  Homer  —  throws  his  wliole  literary  mes- 
sage into  the  form  of  story.  A  similar  predominance 
of  fiction  may  be  asserted  of  French  and  German  litera- 
tures, so  far  as  those  literatures  are  read  outside  their 
native  countiies.  And  Russia  is  being  admitted  into 
the  circle  of  great  literary  powers  mainly  on  the 
strength  of  its  novels.  In  such  an  age  of  fiction  a  vow 
of  total  abstinence  is  equivalent  to  a  sentence  of  ex- 
communication from  contact  with  the  best  minds. 

If  we  turn  to  the  literature  of  the  past,  serious  or 
light,  it  will  appear  that  universality  is  more  readily  ob- 
tained by  fictitious  form  than  by  any  other  device.  The 
wisdom  of  primitive  life  has  nearly  all  perished ;  that 
which  has  been  kept  alive  has  for  the  most  part  the 
form  of  fables  and  legends.  In  the  great  ages,  what 
name  is  more  suggestive  of  literary  dignity  than  the 
name  of   Plato?     Yet   Plato  has   presented  his   whole 


INTRODUCTION.  3 

philosophy  in  a  fictitious  setting,  ^ —  imaginary  dialogues 
in  which  the  characters,  plot,  and  movement  are  as  care- 
fully elaborated  as  in  an  epic  or  drama.  Higher  au- 
thority yet  may  be  quoted.  Of  the  world's  greatest 
Teacher,  the  one  point  of  literary  form  which  most 
impressed  his  contemporaries  was  his  preference  for 
fiction.  "Without  a  parable  spake  he  not  unto 
them." 

Whence,  then,  has  arisen  the  strong  prejudice  of  our 
fathers  against  novels,  and  the  fainter  echo  of  it  by  our 
graver  moralists  of  to-day ;  while  those  who  read  fiction 
half  apologize  for  what  they  put  forward  only  as  a  re- 
laxation or  venial  indulgence? 

There  is  a  certain  tell-tale  phrase  that  usually  comes 
up  in  discussions  of  the  subject,  —  fiction  is  contemptible 
because  it  is  all  *'  made  up."  Has  not  real  life,  we  are 
asked,  difficulties  enough  and  sorrows  of  its  own,  with- 
out our  needing  to  waste  our  tears  on  manufactured 
misery,  or  give  precious  time  to  persons  and  incidents 
which  we  know  all  the  time  never  existed,  but  have 
been  "made  up"  by  a  writer  all  out  of  his  own 
head? 

Fiction  is  objectionable,  then,  because  it  is  "  made  up." 
Now,  those  who  object  most  strongly  are  profound  ad- 
mirers of  physical  science.  But  are  not  the  experiments 
of  the  man  of  science  all  "made  up"?  and  does  not 
their  whole  value  consist  in  the  fact  that  they  are  ar- 
tificial substitutes  of  the  investigator  or  expositor  for 


4  FOUR   YEARS  OF  NOVEL-READING. 

actualities  of  nature  that  could  not  serve  his  purpose  ? 
We  are  to  be  taught  the  behavior  of  two  gases  when 
they  meet.  If  our  teacher  is  to  be  limited  to  tlie  phe- 
nomena as  they  actually  are  found  in  nature,  lie  must 
convey  his  audience  perhaps  to  tlie  bottom  of  the  sea, 
or  the  interior  of  a  floating  cloud ;  when  he  has  got 
them  there  the  process  in  question  is  so  intermingled 
with  other  processes  that  none  but  the  trained  observer 
could  tell  what  was  going  on.  Instead  of  this  he 
"  makes  up  "  an  experiment.  He  fetches  each  of  the 
gases  away  from  all  that  in  actual  nature  would  sur- 
round them ;  he  locks  them  up,  most  unnaturally,  in 
separate  retorts  until  he  is  ready ;  instead  of  waiting 
for  a  real  change  of  weather,  he  most  artificially  brings 
them  together  by  a  spark  from  a  manufactured  battery ; 
and  in  an  instant  a  truth  is  grasped  by  the  simplest  stu- 
dent which  the  cumbrous  and  involved  processes  of 
unassisted  nature  would  have  taken  years  to  demon- 
strate, and  even  in  years  demonstrated  only  to  the 
skilled  observer. 

Now,  fiction  is  the  experimental  side  of  human  science. 
Literature,  we  know,  is  the  criticism  of  life.  But  such 
branches  of  litemture  as  history  and  biography  are  at  a 
disadvantage,  because  they  must,  like  the  mere  observer 
of  physical  nature,  confine  their  critical  survey  to  what 
has  actually  happened.  The  poet  and  novelist  can  go 
far  beyond  this.  They  can  reach  the  very  heart  of 
things  by  contriving  human  experiments ;   setting  up, 


INTRODUCTION.  5 

however  artificially,  the  exact  conditions  ana  surround- 
ings that  will  give  a  vital  clearness  to  their  truth. 
Physical  science  stood  still  for  ages  while  its  method 
was  limited  to  actual  observation  of  nature  ;  it  com- 
menced its  rapid  advance  when  modern  times  invented 
the  idea  of  experiment.  It  is  similarly  not  surprising 
that  the  literature  of  humanity  should  have  failed  to 
make  itself  felt  upon  the  modern  mind  while  directors 
of  education  granted  dignity  only  to  the  records  of  fact. 
When  education  begins  to  give  proper  prominence  to 
the  experimental  exposition  of  life  which  we  call  fiction, 
the  humanities  may  be  expected  to  spring  forward  to 
m  equality  with  the  best-equipped  sciences  and  phi- 
'losophies. 

It  may  be  said  boldly  that  fiction  is  truer  than  fact. 
Half  the  difference  of  opinion  on  the  whole  subject 
rests  upon  a  mental  confusion  between  the  two  things, 
fact  and  truth  —  fact,  the  mass  of  particular  and  indi- 
vidual details ;  truth,  that  is  of  general  and  universal 
import — fact,  the  raw  material;  truth,  the  finished 
article  into  which  it  is  to  be  made  up,  with  hundreds  of 
chances  of  flaws  in  the  working.  Place  side  by  side  a 
biography  of  John  Smith  and  a  biographic  novel  like 
Daniel  Deronda  or  John  Ingle sant :  the  novel  will  be 
"truer"  than  the  biography,  in  the  sense  that  it  will 
contain  more  of  "  truth."  However  great  and  worthy 
John  Smith  may  be,  his  life  must  include  a  large  pro- 
portion of  what  is  accidental,  special  to  the  individual. 


6  FOUR   YEARS  OF  NOVEL-READING. 

The  biography  must  insert  this  because  its  fidelity  is  to 
the  facts.  But  a  George  Eliot  has  no  motive  for  intro- 
ducing anything  that  is  not  of  general  and  univereal 
significance.  The  biography  will  be  the  ore  as  it  comes 
from  the  mine,  gold  and  alloy  mixed ;  the  novel  will 
be  pure  gold.  Even  this  is  an  undei-statement  of  the 
ciise.  Tlie  liero  of  the  novel  is  not  an  individual  at  all, 
but  the  type  of  a  whole  class;  not  only  will  there  be 
nothing  accidental  in  the  portrait,  but  in  this  one  figure 
will  be  concentrated  the  essence  of  a  hundred  Daniel 
Derondas.  The  biography  is  the  single  specimen,  and 
its  gold  is  diluted  with  three  times  its  weight  of  alloy ; 
the  truer  novel  is  gold  only,  and  gold  from  a  hundred 
mines. 

This  contention  that  fiction  is  truer  than  fact  will  be 
called  a  paradox.  But  it  is  none  the  woi-se  for  tliat:  a 
paradox  is  sim[)ly  a  truth  standing  on  tiptoe  to  make 
itself  seen  ;  once  recognized,  the  truth  may  descend  to 
})lain  statement.  Stripped  of  paradoxical  foim  our 
principle  comes  to  this:  fiction  is  truer  —  or  falser  — 
than  fact,  but  in  any  case  more  potent.  Exposition  by 
experiment  may  move  along  false  lines,  and  buttress 
false  theories.  To  handle  facts  is  to  look  through 
plain  glass,  a  mere  transparent  medium.  Fiction  is  a 
lens  that  will  concentrate,  and  tbe  resultant  picture 
will  be  attractive  or  repellent  according  as  the  lens  is 
turned  upon  a  landscape  or  a  slum.  Fiction  will  not 
lose  its  power  to  emphasize  when  it  addresses  itself  to 


INTRODUCTION.  7 

undesirable  matter.  On  the  other  hand,  the  literature 
of  fact  is  always  limited  in  impressiveness,  without  any 
compensating  immunity  from  error. 

It  is  just  here  that  another  school  of  objectors  make 
their  stand.  They  recognize  to  the  fullest  degree  the 
force  of  fiction,  but  lament  that  in  our  actual  social 
life  fiction  is  a  force  for  evil.  And  they  think  the 
case  can  be  met  by  warning  against  bad  fiction ;  or  at 
least  by  seeking  to  form  a  list  of  the  ten  or  the  hun- 
dred Best  Novels,  so  that  a  natural  appetite  for  fiction 
may  be  harmlessly  gratified. 

With  the  basis  of  fact  on  which  this  position  is 
grounded  it  is  impossible  not  to  sympathize.  The 
vast  proportion  of  the  novel-reading  that  actually  goes 
on  in  our  midst  has  no  title  to  the  present  defence 
of  fiction.  If  we  analyze  it,  it  will  seem  to  be,  to  a 
great  extent,  the  intrusion  of  the  universal  gambling 
spirit  into  literature.  Wliat  betting  or  euchre  are  to 
the  men's  club,  that  novels  are  to  the  ladies'  boudoir. 
The  pleasure  of  gambling  lies  in  an  intoxicating  pro- 
longation of  uncertainty  in  a  matter  where  there  is 
interest  without  the  power  of  control.  So  what  gets 
the  typical  novel  read  is  the  long-drawn-out  uncertainty 
whether  Clarissa  is  to  be  married  or  buried  in  the  last 
chapter,  with  a  delicious  off-chance  (if  Mr.  Hardy  be 
the  novelist)  that  she  may  even  come  to  be  hanged. 
The  matter  admits  of  an  easy  test — what  percentage  of 
our  novel-readers  have  ever  read  a  novel  twice  ?     We 


8  FOUR    YEARS   OF  NOVEL-HEADING. 

all  want  to  see  a  good  picture  ten  times  and  more  ; 
those  to  whom  fiction  is  one  of  tlie  tine  arts  will  be  able 
to  produce  their  list  of  stories  read  live,  six,  ten  times. 
The  value  of  a  novel  increases  with  the  square  of  tlie 
number  of  times  it  has  been  read. 

Or,  again,  a  good  deal  of  novel-reading  is  litei-ary 
gossip  and  literary  fashion.  The  elegant  among  us  will 
read,  not  only  stories,  but  the  reviews  of  them ;  appar- 
ently not  for  the  purpose  for  whicli  reviews  exist,  but 
from  the  strange  fascination  that  possesses  many  minds 
for  catching  up  something  that  somebody  says  about 
some  work,  and  quickly  passing  it  on,  not  only  without 
thinking  about  the  remark,  but  without  tlie  least  idea 
of  reading  the  work  to  which  it  refers.  Current  fiction 
stands  second  only  to  social  scandal  as  material  for 
flying  gossip.  Others  are  impelled  by  an  anxiety  to  be 
up  to  date.  Just  as  in  dress  or  house  arrangement  they 
buy  things,  not  because  they  are  good,  nor  for  the  excel- 
lent reason  that  they  like  them,  but  mainly  because 
they  are  the  fashion,  so  they  will  blush  to  confess  that 
they  have  not  read  Dodo^  while  feeling  no  discomfort 
at  not  having  read  Dante. 

Readers  who  suspect  in  themselves  infirmities  of  this 
kind  in  their  attitude  to  fiction  should  prescribe  to 
themselves  a  self-denying  ordinance  by  which  they 
should  read  nothing  that  is  not  ten  years  old.  In 
such  a  piactice  they  would  find  a  sifting  machinery 
stronger  than  a  host  of  reviews. 


INTRODUCTION,  9 

Our  objectors  are  right,  then,  in  their  facts,  but  wrong, 
surely,  in  the  remedy  they  think  to  apply.  Education 
by  Index  Expurgatorius  has  never  succeeded.  The 
institution  of  Novels  Laureate,  we  may  be  sure,  would 
make  little  headway  against  the  keen  pleasure  of  free 
choice.  It  is  a  case  for  reform  ;  but  the  change  needs 
to  be  made,  not  in  the  books,  but  in  the  readers. 

The  practical  issue  to  Avhich  these  considerations 
lead  up  is  that  taste  in  fiction  needs  training.  The 
literature  of  fact  is  easy;  all  creative  art  involves  a 
receptivity  prepared  by  cultivation.  Two  men  are 
seated  side  by  side  on  a  promenade,  listening  to  the 
music  of  the  band.  To  the  one  there  is  no  difference 
between  the  popular  polka  and  the  adagio  from  a 
Beethoven  symphony ;  they  are  simply  successive  items 
in  an  evening's  entertainment.  To  the  man  seated  by 
him,  the  two  pieces  are  wide  as  the  poles  asunder;  the 
one  gives  a  moment's  amusement,  by  the  other  his 
whole  soul  is  called  out,  and  he  feels  himself  in  con- 
verse with  giants  of  the  world  of  mind.  Yet  the 
music  was  the  same  for  both  hearers ;  the  difference 
was  made  by  the  training  of  the  ear.  Cultivation  does 
the  same  for  fiction.  The  very  novel  that  one  man 
reads  to  keep  off  ennui  till  dinner  shall  be  ready, 
when  read  by  another,  and  a  trained  reader,  fills  his 
soul  with  a  sense  of  artistic  beauty,  and  makes  him 
long -to  be  good.  If  novel-reading,  taken  as  a  whole, 
has  been  a  curse  rather  tlian  a  blessing,  the  fault  lies. 


10  FOUR   YEARS  OF  NOVEL-READING. 

not  in  our  authors,  but  in  our  distorted  educational 
system,  which  insists  upon  careful  training  in  matlie- 
matics,  or  language,  or  physical  science,  —  subjects 
comparatively  easy  and  remote  from  life, — yet  leaves 
literature,  most  difficult  and  vital  of  all  studies,  to 
take  care  of  itself.  In  this  matter,  sureh',  we  may 
take  our  moral  censore  with  us.  Fiction  is  going  to 
be  read,  whether  they  like  it  or  not;  but  they  may 
attain  the  object  at  which  they  are  really  aiming,  if 
they  turn  their  energy  into  the  channel  of  demanding 
that  preliminary  training  which  will  determine  whether 
fiction  shall  be  a  dissipation  or  a  mental  and  moral 
food. 

But  how  is  this  cultivation  to  be  attained?  Not, 
surely,  by  the  reading  of  reviews.  Who  could  think 
of  getting  an  ear  for  music  by  reading  reports  of 
concerts  in  the  musical  columns  of  the  press  ?  We 
know  we  can  be  trained  in  music  only  by  hearing  the 
music  itself.  Taste  in  fiction  can  be  cultivated  only 
by  reading  and  re-reading  the  works  of  the  great 
masters,  with  docile  attention  always,  and  sometimes 
with  distinct  effort  and  study.  I  am  not  speaking 
of  the  professed  student,  with  leisure  and  means  to 
use  the  machinery  of  university  education  to  assist 
him  in  developing  his  receptive  powers.  But  the 
busy  men  and  women,  to  whom  litemture  can  never 
be  anything  else  than  recreation,  may  make  their  re- 
creation productive,  if  tliey  are  willing  to  invest  in  it 


INTRODUCTION.  11 

a  little  of  the  mental  capital  we  call  study.  The 
practical  problem  is  to  find  modes  of  studying  fiction 
such  as  will  fit  themselves  into  the  routine  of  ordinary 
busy  life. 

The  object  of  the  present  book  is  to  introduce  a 
little  experiment  that  has  been  made  in  this  matter 
of  popularizing  the  study  of  fiction.  It  has  been 
tried  in  a  mining  village  of  Northumberland  (Eng- 
land), and  in  spite  of  limitations  of  leisure  and  social 
opportunity  it  has  flourished  long  enough  to  present 
"four  years  of  novel-reading."  The  pages  that  follow 
will  speak  for  themselves  ;  here  it  is  enough  to  say, 
that  the  plan  consists  in  the  i*eading,  by  all  the  mem- 
bers of  this  "  Classical  Novel-Reading  Union,"  of  the 
same  novel  at  the  same  period,  while  the  announcement 
of  the  novel  to  be  read  is  accompanied  with  sugges- 
tions, coming  from  some  "literary  authority,"  of  some 
one  or  two  "  points  to  be  noted "  in  the  book.  The 
scheme  includes  meetings  for  discussing  the  novel  and 
reading  essays;  but  its  essence  lies  in  the  two  things 
I  have  mentioned,  —  simultaneous  reading,  and  read- 
ing in  the  liglit  of  an  expert's  suggestions  as  to  im- 
portant points.  The  history  of  this  novel-reading 
union  is  sketched  below  by  its  secretary,  and  a  record 
follows  of  the  work  done.  It  cannot  but  be  interest- 
ing to  note  the  works  selected,  the  ideas  they  have 
called  out,  and  especially  the  suggestions  made  by 
those  who  have  been  consulted  as  literary  authorities. 


12  FOUR   YEARS  OF  NOVEL-READING, 

It  is  interesting,  again,  to  note  that  this  list  of  literary- 
authorities  includes,  not  only  local  friends,  or  those 
whose  work  is  education,  but  sometimes  novelists  of 
sucli  rank  as  Mr.  Justin  McCarthy,  Miss  Peard,  and 
the  author  of  John  Inglesant.  A  few  representative 
essays  are  added,  selected  from  those  read  at  meetings 
of  the  Union.  They  reflect  only  the  opinions  of  the 
individual  writers ;  but  they  will  add  to  the  general 
interest  of  the  present  volume. 

The  reader  will  undei-stand  tliat  what  is  here  in- 
troduced is  not  put  forward  as  a  model  method  of 
studying  fiction.  It  is  too  early  to  talk  of  models ; 
fiction-study  is  in  the  tentative  stage,  and  only^  experi- 
ment is  possible ;  what  is  liere  done  is  to  record  an 
experiment.  It  is  an  experiment  that  can  be  tried  on 
a  larger  scale  by  the  formation  of  similar  unions,  or 
on  a  smaller  scale  by  a  few  friends  reading  together ; 
while  isolated  readers  can  join  this  or  similar  societies 
at  a  distance,  and  gain  the  major  part  of  the  advan- 
tages of  the  plan.  Without  going  farther,  the  four 
years'  experience  here  presented  will  afford  a  not  in- 
considerable training  in  novel-reading  to  any  who  may 
try  to  follow  it.  I  will  add,  that  if  any  readei*s 
of  these  pages  are  induced  to  try  for  themselves 
the  plan  here  described,  or  any  other  plan  suggested 
by  it,  and  would  find  some  means  of  making  pub- 
lic their  experience  in  the  matter,  they  would  be 
doing  good   service  in  helping  towards  that  compari- 


INTRODUCTION,  13 

son  of  experiments  which  leads  up  to  the  survival 
of  the  fittest  method.  Whether  it  be  by  the  union  of 
several  students  in  a  society,  or  by  the  individual 
efforts  of  isolated  readers,  in  some  way  the  regular 
study  of  fiction  must  be  set  on  foot.  And  this  study 
of  fiction  will  be,  in  its  highest  form,  the  study  of 
life. 

K.  G.  MOULTOK 


FOUR  YEARS  OF  NOVEL-READING 


THE   BACKWORTH 
CLASSICAL   NOVEL-READING   UNION 


BACKWORTH 
CLASSICAL  NOVEL-READING   UNION 


A   BRIEF    HISTORY 

Backworth  forms  part  of  a  group  of  mining  villages 
lying  near  to  a  north-eastern  headland  of  the  German 
Ocean,  and  is  one  of  the  many  small  industrial  centres 
spreading  like  net-work  throughout  the  great  mining 
county  of  Northumberland.  If  any  evidence  were  re- 
quired of  the  immense  improvement  in  industrial  con- 
ditions, and  of  the  general  progress  of  the  mining  class, 
in  this  part  of  England,  it  would  only  be  necessary  to 
contrast  Backworth  with  some  of  the  older  mining  vil- 
lages, decaying  remnants  of  which  are  to  be  found, 
where  active  industry  i^  no  longer  in  progress.  Its  im- 
proved dwellings,  commodious  board  schools,  flourish- 
ing co-operative  society,  popular  workmen's  institute, 
and  a  number  of  other. interests  and  advantages,  are  so 
many  proofs  of  its  general  prosperity  and  happiness  as 
compared  with  the  life  and  conditions  prevailing  in 
mining  communities  thirty  years  ago. 

When  the  great  movement  of  University  Extension 

17 


18  FOUR   YEARS  OF  NOVEL-READING, 

was  conceived  and  began  its  benignant  career,  it  was 
almost  natural  that  its  earliest  missionaries  should  find 
their  way  to  Northumberland.  Backworth,  with  many 
other  places,  associated  itself  with  the  scheme  in  these 
early  days ;  but  to  Backworth  alone  belongs  the  dis- 
tinction of  having  maintained  an  almost  unbroken  at- 
tachment for  many  years.  It  was  during  a  course  of 
University  Extension  lectures  that  the  movement  to 
which  this  brief  history  relates  first  took  definite  shape, 
and  the  ''  Classical  Novel-Reading  Union "  had  its 
birth. 

The  first  coui-se  of  lectures  of  a  purely  literary  nature 
was  delivered  in  the  spring  of  1890,  and  among  other 
lessons  taught  was  the  importance  of  fiction  as  a  whole- 
some and  educational  influence.  It  was  soon  discovered 
that  although  Backworth  read  fiction,  it  was  not  fiction 
of  the  best  class  ;  and  there  was  no  systematic  study  of 
the  best  works  of  the  best  authoi-s,  and  scanty  knowl- 
edge of  the  great  classics  of  fiction  which  are  among 
life's  best  text-books.  This  course  of  lectures  was  one 
of  the  most  successful  ever  held  in  Backworth.  It  was 
followed  by  deep  and  intelligent  interest,  and  awoke 
in  many  the  first  perceptions  of  the  great  educational 
value  of  literature ;  and  when  it  was  suggested  that  a 
society  should  be  formed,  the  object  of  which  should  be 
the  study  of  classical  fiction,  the  project  was  received 
with  an  appreciation  closely  allied  to  enthusiasm. 

The  idea  having  been  adopted,  the  principle,  purpose, 


BACKWORTH  NOVEL-READING   UNION.         19 

and  plan  of   operation  of  the  proposed  society,  were 
embodied  in  a  circular  as  follows  :  — 

Principle, 

Literature  is  the  science  of  life;  and  the  great 
classical  novels  are  among  the  best  text-books  of  life. 
To  study  these  is  the  true  antidote  to  trashy  and  poi- 
sonous fiction. 

Purpose. 

The  purpose  of  the  Union  is  to  encourage  a  course 
of  systematic  novel-reading,  (1)  at  the  rate  of  a 
novel  a  month ;  (2)  to  be  taken  up  by  ordinary  read- 
ers and  students,  the  former  reading  and  talking  about 
the  novels,  the  latter  meeting  to  discuss  and  do  work. 

Plan  of  Operation. 

1.  A  post-card  will  be  sent  to  every  member  at  the 
beginning  of  the  month  announcing,  (a)  the  novel 
chosen  for  the  month  5  (h)  a  very  brief  suggestion  from 
some  competent  literary  authority  of  some  leading 
points  to  be  kept  in  view  during  the  reading  of  the 
work ;  (c)  the  date  and  business  of  the  first  meeting. 

2.  All  joining  the  Union  undertake  to  read  during 
the  month  the  novel  selected,  and  from  time  to  time 
endeavor  to  turn  conversation  upon  it. 

3.  All  members  are  invited  to  attend,  and  (if  they 
like)  take  part  in  the  meetings  of  the  Union.  At  the 
same  time  it  is  fully  recognized  that  many  more  will 
undertake  the  reading  than  those  able  to  attend  the 
meetings  or  do  work. 

4.  The  business  of  the  meetings  will  be,  (1)  the 
reading  and  discussion  of  papers  (especially  upon 
subjects  connected  with  the  suggestions  made  by  the 


20  FOUR   YEARS  OF  NOVEL-READING. 

literary  authority) ;  (2)  discussion  of  difficulties  or 
queries  started  by  members;  or  (3)  formal  debates 
upon  questions  arising  out  of  the  novel  of  the  month. 

5.  There  will  be  one  meeting  in  the  earlier  half  of 
each  month ;  others  during  the  month  (if  found  desir- 
able), by  adjournment  from  the  first,  or  by  the  appoint- 
ment of  the  council.  If  practicable,  meetings  shall  be 
held  in  various  places  in  the  district. 

Membership  and  Government. 

1.  The  membership  shall  include  local  and  distant 
members,  the  only  pledge  required  being  that  they 
shall  read  the  book  selected  for  the  month. 

2.  The  Union  to  be  governed  by  a  president,  vice- 
presidents,  secretary,  and  a  council  of  six,  to  be  elected 
annually. 

The  chief  duty  of  the  latter  shall  be  the  selection 
of  novels,  and  general  oversight  in  the  work  of  the 
Union. 

These  circulars  were  distributed  throughout  the  dis- 
trict prior  to  the  last  lecture  of  the  coui-se,  at  which  it 
was  announced  that  a  supply  of  post-cards  bad  been 
provided,  by  which  intending  members  might  notify 
the  secretary  of  their  desire  to  become  members  of 
the  "  Backworth  and  District  Classical  Novel-Reading 
Union."  Three  weeks  from  the  date  of  this  meeting 
the  membership  stood  at  forty-six ;  and  with  this  num- 
ber a  start  was  made  with  the  fii-st  novel  for  the  month 
of  May.  The  chief  agent  of  the  colliery  undertook  the 
presidency,  a  number  of  gentlemen  —  including  the  two 
parliamentary  representatives  of  the  miners  —  accepted 


BACKWORTH  NOVEL-READING   UNION.         21 

the  vice-presidency,  and  a  representative  council  was 
elected  to  control  the  business  of  the  society.  Tlie 
room  of  the  local  Students'  Association  was  selected 
as  the  place  of  meeting,  and  the  printing  of  post-cards, 
etc.,  was  to  be  done  with  a  small  hand  printing-press, 
the  property  of  the  same  body.  A  list  of  six  novelists 
was  drawn  up,  —  Dickens,  Thackeray,  Scott,  Kingsley, 
Lytton,  and  "  George  Eliot ; "  and  the  secretary  was 
instructed  to  make  application  to  competent  literary  au- 
thorities for  suggestions  or  "  points  to  be  noted  "  in  any 
work  of  these  authors.  Dickens's  Martin  Chuzzlewit 
Avas  tlie  first  book  read  by  the  Union,  and  fully  bore 
out  the  interest  anticipated  in  the  formation  of  the  so- 
ciety. 

During  the  months  which  ensued,  additions  were 
steadily  made  to  the  membership,  until  in  six  months  it 
had  reached  eighty-seven,  nearly  double  the  number  at 
the  beginning.  These  were  not  entirely  local  members. 
The  local  press  had  published  accounts  of  the  formation 
of  the  Union,  and  induced  many  living  at  a  distance  to 
make  application  for  membership ;  and  about  one-third 
of  the  membership  at  this  time  was  drawn  from  persons 
living  at  a  distance.  It  Avas  urged  that  local  unions 
might  be  formed  by  these  in  their  own  districts;  but 
it  was  felt  that  the  experience  of  the  first  year  of  the 
Backworth  enterprise  might  be  useful  before  steps 
were  taken  in  this  direction. 

And  now,  with  a  few  months'  experience,  weak  places 


22  FOUR   YEARS  OF  NOVEL-READING. 

were  discovered  in  the  general  plan  of  operation,  and 
these  finally  developed  into  considerable  difficulties. 

Three  main  points  were  brouglit  up  for  the  considera- 
tion of  a  special  meeting  :  — 

1.  It  was  felt  that  a  month  was  too  short  a  time  to  read 

the  novels  thoroughly. 

2.  Literary  authorities  did  not  respond  readily. 

3.  Members  were  unwilling  to  commit  themselves  to  do 

any  work  until  they  had  read  the  book,  and  thus 
essays  and  debates  did  not  prosper. 

At  this  specially  convened  meeting  the  following 
amendments  were  made  to  the  constitution:  — 

1.  Two  months  was  to  be  the  time  allotted  for  reading 

the  novel. 

2.  University  Extension  lecturers  were  to  be  added  to 

the  list  of  literary  authorities. 

3.  A  meeting  was  to  be  held  at  the  end  of  the  first 

month  for  the  arrangement  of  essays,  debates, 
etc.,  when  it  was  hoped  that  members  having  some 
knowledge  of  the  book  would  feel  themselves  more 
competent  to  undertake  the  work. 

These  changes  no  doubt  represent  a  very  considerable 
departure  from  the  original  plan  of  the  Union,  but  it  is 
only  necessary  to  point  out  that  they  in  no  way  inter- 
fered with  the  principle  of  the  society.  The  earlier 
plan  was  necessarily  tentative ;  and  from  the  fact 
that  the  scheme  originated  in  a  mining  district,  with 
all  its  busy   interests,    and    consequently   limited   lei- 


BACK  WORTH  NOVEL-READING   UNION,         23 

sure  for  the  purposes  of  the  Union,  any  adaptation  to 
meet  local  requirements  does  not  presume  want  of  suc- 
cess. For  a  district  with  more  leisure,  a  wider  acquaint- 
ance with  books,  and  greater  educational  facilities,  the 
original  plan  is  worthy  of  consideration,  and  would  no 
doubt  be  practicable,  and  for  this  reason  has  been  in- 
cluded in  extenso  in  these  notes.  Backworth,  however, 
found  the  change  beneficial,  and  the  society  exists  on 
these  lines  to-day.  The  longer  time  allotted  gives 
greater  opportunity  for  thorough  reading.  Literary  sug- 
gestions are  more  easily  obtained  from  those  wlio  know 
or  have  heard  of  Backworth  as  a  successful  University 
Extension  centre.  And  the  knowledge  obtained  in  the 
first  month's  reading  enables  members  to  undertake 
definite  work  in  the  shape  of  an  essay,  or  the  negative 
or  affirmative  in  a  debate. 

From  the  date  of  tlie  acceptance  of  these  changes  in 
the  constitution  and  administration  of  the  Union  pro- 
gress has  been  slow,  but  certain.  It  was  inevitable  that 
some  should  enter  the  society  with  mistaken  views  as 
to  its  object  and  purpose,  with  nothing  more  than  a 
curious  interest  in  its  actual  working,  and  with  little  or 
no  sympathy  for  the  definite  principles  of  the  society. 
Like  the  poor,  these  are  always  with  us.  But  although 
our  increase  has  been  largely  discounted  by  a  correspond- 
ing decrease  due  to  a  variety  of  causes  (personal  and 
local),  and  by  the  process  of  weeding  out  those  indiffer- 
ent to  the  pledge  of  membership,  we  have  been  able  to 


24  FOUR   YEARS  OF  NOVEL-READING, 

maintain  a  sound  body  of  members  numbering  eighty- 
three,  that  are  in  full  sympathy  with  the  objects  of  the 
institution,  and  faithful  to  its  pledge  and  purpose.  A 
uniform  subscription  of  one  shilling  per  member,  payable 
on  entrance,  is  sufficient  to  meet  all  the  expenses  of  the 
Union.  Members  provide  their  own  books,  either  by 
loan  or  purchase;  or  sometimes,  in  the  case  of  a  group 
of  students,  by  mutual  purchase  —  each  member  ob- 
taining the  use  of  the  book  in  turn,  while  it  is  finally 
disposed  of  to  the  members  in  rotation. 

At  the  end  of  the  first  month  an  informal  discussion 
takes  place  on  the  points  to  be  noted,  and  subjects  are 
set  for  essay  and  debate.  The  latter  are  not  always 
accepted,  membei-s  selecting  their  subjects  according  to 
their  individual  tastes,  but  always  with  due  regard  to 
the  particular  book  under  discussion.  Occasionally 
papers  are  given  at  this  meeting,  which  might  be  called 
supplementary  papers,  as  they  often  deal  with  subjects 
previously  discussed,  and  are  brought  forward  when  a 
debate  or  essay  has  not  covered  the  whole  subject 
from  the  writer's  point  of  view.  Distant  members  con- 
tribute papei^  to  the  general  meeting,  and  at  their  own 
request  have  the  papei*s  of  local  members  sent  to  them. 
With  a  larger  society,  and  special  means  at  our  com- 
mand, every  member  would  be  provided  with  a  copy, 
or  at  least  a  prScis^  of  the  proceedings  at  the  general 
meetinor. 

An  annual  report  is  issued  by  the  secretary,  in  which 


BACKWORTH  NOVEL-READING   UNION.         25 

membership,  work  done,  finance,  and  future  prospects 
are  discussed  ;  and  each  member  is  supplied  with  a 
copy  of  this  report,  from  which  may  be  gathered  the 
general  progi-ess  of  the  society. 

This  is  a  brief  outline  of  the  '- Novel-Reading  Union  " 
as  it  at  present  exists;  and  some  idea  of  its  work  and 
usefulness  may  be  seen  in  the  following  table :  — - 

Books  Read  .     .     .     ; 20 

Papers  Given 54 

Meetings  Held 34 

The  list  of  authors  has  been  extended,  taking  in 
Victor  Hugo,  Charles  Reade,  George  Meredith,  Mrs. 
Gaskell,  Eugdne  Sue,  Charlotte  Bronte,  etc. ;  and  the 
great  works  of  these  great  authors  have  been  a  con- 
stant source  of  pleasure  to  those  privileged  to  read 
them  under  tlie  guidance  of  skilled  literary  advisers. 
Nor  has  the  work  been  one  of  pleasure  alone.  The 
avowed  principle  upon  which  the  Union  is  based  is 
to  make  fiction,  which  contains  some  of  the  best 
thinking  of  tlie  age,  not  only  a  pleasant,  but  an  educa- 
tional pursuit;  to  neutralize  the  trashy  and  pernicious 
literature  which  abounds  in  these  days  of  cheap  books, 
and  to  train  earnest  students,  not  only  in  the  best 
thought,  but  in  the  literary  ways  and  methods  of  the 
best  novelists.  It  is  sometimes  urged  against  our 
scheme,  that  it  deals  only  witli  one  department  of 
literature  to  the  exclusion  of  others  equally  interest- 


26  FOUR   YEARS  OF  NOVEL-READING, 

ing,  and  possibly  more  profitable.  The  use  of  this 
argument  implies  forgetfulness  of  the  root  idea  of  the 
Union.  Jt  does  not  concern  itself  with  the  literary 
tastes  of  members,  except  in  so  far  as  these  tastes 
incline  to  fiction.  We  assume  that  fiction  has  some 
place  in  the  reading  of  every  one  who  reads  at  all. 
We  fix  this  occasional  reading  at  th^  rate  of  a  novel 
in  two  months,  and  ask  that  the  reading  be  syste- 
matically done,  and  educational  in  purpose.  It  is  no 
part  of  our  plan  to  provide  pleasure  without  profit, 
and  it  cannot  be  too  clearly  emphasized  that  the 
Union  is  not  merely  a  recreative  organization. 

One  remark  may  be  added.  It  has  constantly  been 
urged  upon  us  from  outside,  that  our  local  effort 
would  be  a  service  to  literary  study  in  general,  be- 
cause it  would  be  pioneering  with  a  view  to  discover 
a  practical  method  of  systematically  stud3nng  fiction, 
which,  when  once  discovered  and  tested  by  experi- 
ence, would  probably  be  adopted  elsewhere.  This  has 
been  done  at  such  places  as  London  and  Exeter;  and 
a  further  result  of  this  local  effort  may  be  seen  in 
the  larger  place  given  to  fiction  in  the  programmes 
of  the  numerous  debating  societies,  in  both  town  and 
country,  and  in  the  general  consent  which  has  been 
accorded  to  the  idea  that  the  importance  of  the  novel 
as  a  vehicle  of  thought,  and  its  influence  in  life^  are 
such  as  to  justify  special  study  and  organization. 

J.  U.  BARROW. 


FOUR  YEARS'  WORK 


THE   BACKWORTH   CLASSICAL  NOVEL- 
READING   UNION 


WORK   DONE   BY   THE   C.  N.  R.  U. 


FIRST  NOVEL 

Martin  ChuzzleTArit,  by  Charles  Dickens. 
Points  to  he  noted  {swj (jested  by  Prof.  R.  G.  Moulton). 

1.  Four  different  types  of  selfishness,  —  Old   Martin,  Young 

Martin,  Antony,  and  Pecksniff. 

2.  Four  different  types  of  unselfishness,  —  Mary,  Mark  Tapley, 

Old  Chuffey,  and  Tom  Pinch. 

Debate: — That  the  two  swindles  in  the  story  (Scadder's  Land 
Office  and  the  English  Insurance  Company)  are  incon- 
ceivable. 

Essays. 

1.  Is  Mark  Tapley's  character  overdrawn  ? 

2.  Changes  in  the  characters  of  the  book  from  Selfishness  to 

Unselfishness. 
Difficulty  Raised.  —  How  could  Tom  Pinch  go  so  long  undeceived 
in  Pecksniff  ? 

SECOND  NOVEL 

Anne  of  Geierstein,  by  Sir  Walter  Scott. 
Point  to  be  noted  (suggested  by  Prof.  R.  G.  Moulton). 

The    supernatural   element   in  the  story ;    how    much  is 
intended  to  be  real  ?   how^  much  self-deception  ?  how  much 
imposture  ? 
Debate.  —  Was  the  Yehme-Gericht,  as  described  by  Scott,  a  right- 
eous institution  ? 
Essay.  —  The  character  of  Burgundy  as  painted  in  another  novel 

of  Scott's. 
Difficulty  Raised.  —  How  could   such  daughters   come  of  such 
fathers  —  as  Anne  and  Queen  Margaret,  of  Count  Albert  and 
King  Rene  ? 


30  FOUR    YEARS  OF  NOVEL-READING. 

THIRD  NOVEL 

A  Tale  of  Two  Cities,  by  Charles  Dickens 
Point  to  be  noted  {suggested  by  Justin  McCarthy,  Esq.,  M.P.). 

The  author's  description  of  a  French  mob  in  this  novel 
contrasted  with  his  description  of  an  English  mob  in  Bamaby 
Rudcje. 

Debate.  —  Was   the   noble   self-sacrifice  of  the  hero  within  the 
range  of  human  generosity  ? 

Essay.  —  The  character  of  Carton  as  it  develops  under  the  influ- 
ence of  his  pure,  unselfish  love. 

FOURTH  NOVEL 

"Westrward-Ho  !   by  Charles  Kingsley. 
Point  to  be  noted  (suggested  by  Prof.  R.  G.  Moulton). 

Character  contrasts  in  the  same  family  (a  study  of  the  two 
brothers  Leigh  and  their  cousin  Eustace). 
Debate.  —  The  morality  of  the  English  expeditions  against  the 
West. 

FIFTH  NOVEL 

Ninety -Three,  by  Victor  Hugo. 
Points  to  be  noted  (suggested  by  A.  J.  Grant,  Esq.,  M.A.), 

1.  That  the  book  is  without  any  important  female  character. 

How  is  the  interest  sustained  without  it  ? 

2.  Does  the  story  strike  you  as  characteristically  French,  and 

in  what  respects  ? 

3.  The  character  of  the  Marquis  de  Latenac  as  representing 

the  best  side  of  the  ancient  regime. 
Debate. — Was    Cimourdain   right   in  condemning  Gauvain  to 

death  ? 
Essay.  —  Victor  Hugo's  view  of  the  Revolution. 

SIXTH  NO  VEL 

Vanity  Fair,  by  "Wm.  M.  Thackeray. 
Points  to  be  noted  (suggested  by  Prof.  O.  Seaman). 

1.   Worldliness  absorbs  the  art  and  charm  of  the  novel.    Becky 
at  the  worst  nearly  always  fascinates.     Virtue  is  made 


WOBK  DONE  BY  THE  C.  N.  R.  U.  31 

either  dull  or  absurd.  Amelia  is  a  poor  hysterical  thing, 
and  worships  a  snob.  Lady  Jane  is  a  good-natured  non- 
entity, and  loves  a  prig.  Dobbin,  the  real  hero,  has  large 
feet,  and  is  generally  awkward.  Religion  is  made  synony- 
mous with  cant. 
2.  Note  two  kinds  of  vulgarity  in  the  attitude  of  the  middle 
classes  toward  the  aristocracy,  —  (a)  a  fawning  admira- 
tion, as  shown  by  many  of  the  characters;  (6)  an  affec- 
tation of  contempt,  as  shown  constantly  by  the  author 
himself. 
"3.  The  delightful  balance  of  interest  is  due  to  Thackeray's 
power  of  reticence  as  well  as  of  expression.  Waterloo,  for 
instance,  is  not  made  an  excuse  for  fine  writing  or  pro- 
tracted description.  The  single  line  that  tells  of  George 
Osborne's  death  is  a  stroke  of  art. 

Character  Sketch.  —  Captain  Dobbin. 

Debate.  —  Was   Rawdon   Crawley  justified  in    condemning    his 
wife  ? 

Essay.  —  The  redeeming  qualities  in  Becky  Sharp. 


SEVENTH  NOVEL 

Put  Yourself  in  His  Place,  by  Charles  Keade. 

Points  to  he  noted  {suggested  by  Miss  Spence). 

1.  Three  main  purposes  of  the  author:    (a)  to  show  that  in 

the  struggle  of  capital  and  labor  due  consideration  has 
not  been  given  to  the  value  of  life;  (6)  the  power  of  sym- 
pathy as  an  interpreter  of  the  actions  of  others;  (c)  the 
cowardly  and  inhuman  methods  trade  unions  have  re- 
sorted to. 

2.  That  the  interest  of  character  is  quite  subordinate  to  that 

of  incident.  The  dramatic  and  picturesque  character  of 
some  of  the  situations:  viz.,  the  turning  of  the  portrait 
in  the  hall  at  Raby;  scene  in  the  old  church  during  a 
snow-storm. 

Debate.  —  Was  Simmons  right  to  keep  silence  on  his  death-bed  ? 

Essay.  —  The  legitimate  scope  of  trade  unions. 


i^'2  FOUR    YEARS  OF  NOVEL-READING, 

EIGHTH  NOVEL 

Silas  Marner,  by  Greorge  Eliot. 
Points  to  be  noted  (suggested  by  G.  L.  Dickinson^  Esq.y  M.A.). 

1.  Note  the  gradual  disappearance  of  village  life  such  as  that 

described  in  the  book  before  improved  communications, 
large  factories,  etc. 

2.  The  change  in  Silas  Marner's  character  under  the  influence 

of  the  child  he  has  adopted.     This  is  the  central  motive 
of  the  book. 

3.  The  nemesis  falling  on  Godfrey  in  his  childlessness  by  his 

wife,  while  all  the  time  his  illegitimate  child  is  growing 
up  near  him,  but  unknown  to  him. 

Debate.  —  Is  the  effect  of  large  industry  an  advantage  or  a  disad- 
vantage to  human  and  social  relations  ? 

Essay.  —  Nemesis. 


XIXTH  NOVEL 

Jane  Eyre,  by  Charlotte  Bronte. 
Points  to  be  noted  {suggested  by  Dr.  A.  S.  PercivaV). 

1.  The  book  is  neither  artistic  nor  realistic,  yet  it  possesses  an 

engrossing  interest.     On  what  does  the  interest  depend  ? 

2.  The  characters:  — 

Jane  Eyre,  a  woman  of  little  human  sympathy,  upright 
by  rule  rather  than  from  any  impulsive  lov^  of  right. 
Note  the  vulgarity  of  her  distrust  of  Roehester 
during  her  engagement. 

Rochester,  a  woman's  false  type  of  manliness.  He 
has  a  certain  nobility,  though  his  roughness  and 
coarseness  detract  from  the  strength  of  his  character. 

St.  John  Rivers,  a  selfish  prig  ;  his  uprightness  based 
purely  on  hope  of  future  reward. 

Debate.  —  Can  Rochester's  conduct  to  Jane  Eyre  be  justified  ? 

Essay,  r-  The  character  of  the  author  as  revealed  in  the  book. 


WORK  DONE  BY  THE   C.  JV.  R.  U,  33 

TENTH  NO  VEL 

Wives  and  Daughters,  by  Mrs.  Gaskell. 

Points  to  be  noted  (suyyested  by  Miss  Peard). 

1.  Note  especially  with  what  subtlety  the  laws  of  heredity  are 

shown  to  work  in  the  characters  of  Mrs.  Gibson  and  Molly, 
Mrs.  Gibson  and  Cynthia,  the  Squire  and  Mrs.  Hamley, 
and  their  two  sons;  the  modification  or  accentuation  of 
certain  traits  in  the  children. 

2.  The  charm  of  truthfulness  and  absence  of  exaggeration  in 

the  book. 

Debate. — Was  cowardice  the  moral  failing  which  worked  most 
mischief  in  the  course  of  the  story  ? 

Essmj.  —  The  law  of  heredity  as  show^n  in  various  characters  in 
the  book. 


ELEVENTH  NOVEL 

Komola,  by  George  Eliot. 

Points  to  be  noted  (suggested  by  W.  E.  Norris,  Esq.). 

It  is  to  the  study  of  Tito  Melema  in  chief  that  Romola  — 
excellent  as  the  work  is  throughout  —  owes  its  immor- 
tality. Note  especially  how  his  selfishness  and  cowardice 
have  to  be  indicated  so  early  in  the  book,  that  the  read- 
er's sympathies  are  necessarily  alienated  from  him,  and 
it  is  therefore  all  the  greater  triumph  on  the  writer's  part 
to  have  conveyed  the  impression  that  in  real  life  his  charm 
would  have  been  almost  irresistible.  To  have  discovered 
something  about  the  methods  by  which  this  character  has 
been  made  to  stand  upon  his  feet  is,  no  doubt,  to  have 
discovered  something  about  the  technical  side  of  light  lit- 
erature. 

Essays. 

1.  The  character  of  Savonarola,  and  the  secret  of  his  influence. 

2.  Tito  and  Romola :  a  contrast. 

3.  Tito :  as  a  political  study,  and  a  work  of  art. 


34  FOUR   YEARS  OF  NOVEL-READING. 

TWELFTH  NO  FUL 

Persuasion,  by  Jane  Aiisten. 
Points  to  be  noted  (suggested  by  J.  II.  Sftorthouse,  Esq.). 

1.  The  extraordinary  vitality  of  Miss  Austen's  characters,  tho 
I  more  surprising  as  they  are  all,  or  nearly  all,  common- 
place and  ordinary  people. 

2.  The  character  of  Anne  Elliot  (considered  by  some  to  be  tho 

most  perfect  piece  of  work  in  English  fiction). 
Debate.  —  Was  Anne  Elliot  self-conscious  ?  and,  if  so,  is  self-con^ 
sciousness  a  fault  ?  and  why  ? 

THIIlTEENTn  NOVEL 

Alton  Locke,  by  Charles  Kingsley. 
Points  to  be  noted  (suggested  by  Arthur  lierry,  Exq.,  M.A.). 

1.  This  is  essentially  a  novel  with  a  purpose;  namely,  to  raise 

public  opinion  against  the  evils  of  sweating,  to  denounce 
cheapness  and  competition,  and  to  advocate  the  union  of 
the  gentry  and  clergy  with  the  working-classes  against 
the  commercial  classes. 

2.  Note  the  evil  influence  of  Lillian  on  Alton. 

3.  The  character  of  Sandy  Mackaye. 

Essdy. — Whether  it  is  good  art  to  teach  political  or  other  doc- 
trines in  a  novel. 
Debate.  —  Is  the  conversion  of  Alton  natural  ? 
Essay.  —  Literary  symbolism  (Sandy  Mackaye  —Thomas  Carlyle). 


FOURTEENTH  NOVEL 

Kenilworth,  by  Sir  "Walter  Scott. 

Points  to  be  noted  {suggested  by  Mr.  Thomas  Dawson). 

1.  Note  how  the  general  interest  of  the  book  is  wonderfully 
divided  between  the  narrative  and  the  graphic  pictures  of 
English  life  in  the  Elizabethan  period.  Compare  and 
contrast  these  pictures  with  those  drawn  in  Westward 
Ho! 


WORK  DONE  BY  THE  C.  N.  R.  U.        .        35 

2.  Note  the  character  of  Queen  Elizabeth,  especially  when  she 

frequently  betrays  the  weakness  of  her  sex. 

3.  It  is  not  until  the  honor  of  Amy  Kobsart  is  imperilled  that 

the  real  strength  and  nobility  of  her  character  is  discov- 
ered. 

4.  Observe  the  mesmeric  power  possessed   by  Varney,  espe- 

cially in  the  scene  when  Amy  drinks  the  liquid  offered  by 

him. 
Debate.  —  Which  is  the  greater  villain  —  Yarney  or  Foster  ? 
Essay.  —  The  literary  use  of  mesmeric  fascination. 


FIFTEENTH  NOVEL 

The  Wandering  Jew,  by  Eugene  Sue. 
Points  to  he  noted  {suggested  by  Prof.  R.  G.  Moultoii). 

1.  Note   how  the  legendary  immortality  of  an  individual  is 

brought  into  contact  with  immortality  as  seen  (1)  in  a 
family,  (2)  in  property  —  compound  interest,  (3)  in  a  cor- 
poration—  the  Jesuits. 

2.  Contrast  the   first  part  of  the  book  —  intrigue  by  violent 

opposition  —  with  the   second   part,  —  the   intrigue  that 
acts  through  the  passions  of  its  opponents. 
Essays. 

1.  The  difficulties  and  improbabilities  of  the  story. 

2.  The  legend  of  the  Wandering  Jew  in  literature. 

SIXTEENTH  NO  VEL 

The  Cloister  and  the  Hearth,  by  Charles  Reade. 
Points  to  be  noted  (suggested  by  G.  L.  Dickinson,  Esq.,  31. A.). 

1.  The  value  of  the  historical  novel  as  supplementing  history, 

giving  with  vividness  the  manners  and  customs  and  daily 
life  of  the  period. 

2.  The  particular  characteristics  of  the  period  with  which  the 

novel  deals,  —  the  transition  from  the  Middle  Ages  to  the 
Renaissance. 

3.  The  main  interest  of  the  story  proper  is  the  way  in  which 

the  love  of  Gerard  and  Margaret  is  transformed  without 


36  FOUR    YEARS  OF  NOVEL-READING. 

being  lessened  when  they  are  iinable  to  live  as  husband 
and  wife. 
4.    The  broad  humanity  of  the  author,  as,  for  example,  in  his 
sympathetic  treatment  of  the  soldier  Denys,  and  of  the 
beggar  with  whom  Gerard  travels. 
Eauay.  —  The  ideal  of  asceticism. 


SE  VESTEENTIl  \o  /  j:l 

Esmond,  by  Wm.  M.  Thackeray. 
Points  to  be  noted  (fntggeated  by  Miss  Peard). 

1.  Note   the   absence  of   any  great   central   situation   in  Es- 

mond.  There  is  scarcely  one  striking  incident  which 
takes  hold  of  the  reader,  whereas  the  characters  remain 
strong  and  distinct  in  the  memory. 

2.  Note  the  excellence  of  the  style.     The  story  is  told  whh 

extreme  vigor  and  directness,  and  there  is  nothing  which 
can  be  called  ornamental  description.  Yet  no  historical 
novel  carries  one  so  completely  into  the  spirit  of  the  age. 

Debate.  —  Is  Thackeray  a  cynic,  or  a  great  moral  satirist  ? 

Essay.  —  The  characters  of  Thackeray. 

EIGHTEENTH  HOVEL 

The  Egoist,  by  George  Meredith. 
Points  to  be  noted  (suggested  by  E.  Saltmarshe^  Esq.). 

1.  Note  the  descriptions  of  nature. 

2.  The  intensely  pathetic  figure  of  the  hero. 

3.  The  restrained  humor  in  "  the  aged  and  great  wine  scene." 
Debate. — Eliminating  the  chance  which  broke  off  the  engage- 
ment, had  Clara  Middleton  force  of  character  enough  to  win 
her  freedom  again,  having  made  the  resolution  to  do  so,  or 
would  Sir  Willoughby,  with  the  powerful  conventional  weapon 
she  had  given  him,  viz.,  her  plighted  troth,  backed  by  his  end- 
less resource  of  sophistry,  and  the  subterfuges  to  which  his 
egoism  was  capable  of  sending  him,  have  won  the  day  ? 

Essay.  —  The  methods  and  teaching  of  George  Meredith. 


WORK  DONE  BY  THE   C.  N.  R.  U.  37 

NINETEENTH  NO  VEL 

David  Copperfield,  by  Charles  Dickens. 
Points  to  be  noted  (suggested  by  Sir  Courtenay  Boyle,  K.C.B.'). 

1.  How  far  was  Mr.  Micawber's  improvidence  personal  to  him- 

self ?  and  how  far  due  to  his  surroundings  ?  What  is  the 
possibility  that  in  real  life  a  change  of  scene  would  have 
led  to  the  change  of  character  hinted  at  in  the  novel  ? 

2.  What  is  there  to  admire  in  (a)  Steerforth,  (6)  Peggotty, 

(c)  Traddles? 
Debate.  —  Does  Dickens  abuse  literary  art  ? 
Essay.  —  David  Copperfield  as  a  prig. 


TWENTIETH  NOVEL 

Elsie  Venner,  by  O.  W.  Holmes. 
Points  to  be  noted  (suggested  by  T.  L.  Brunton,  Esq.,M.D.,  F.R.S.). 

1.  Note  the  effect  of  inherited  tendencies  on  the  actions  of 

individuals. 

2.  The  effect  of  accidental  circumstances  (e.g.,  disease  affect- 

ing a  parent)  on  the  character  of  the  offspring. 

Debate.  —  How  far  was  Bernard  Langdon  justified  in  punishing 
Abner  Briggs  and  his  dog,  considering  that  they  were  both 
acting  according  to  their  natures,  which  they  had  partly  in- 
herited from  their  ancestors,  and  which  were  partly  developed 
by  the  circumstances  in  which  they  were  brought  up  ? 

Essay.  — How  far  is  the  character  of  Elsie  Yenner  to  be  regarded 
as  a  description  of  fact  ?   and  how  far  as  a  parable  ? 


TWENTY-FIRST  NOVEL 

"Woodstock,  by  Sir  Walter  Scott. 

Points  to  be  noted  (^suggested  by  Stanley  Wayman,  Esq.). 

1.  The  strange  types  of  character  produced  by  the  troubles 
of  the  civil  war:  (1)  Harrison,  the  religious  fanatic.  (2) 
Bletson,  the  philosophic  atheist.  (3)  Desborough,  the 
ignorant,  ox-like  man,  wandering  in  the  dark. 


38  FOUR    YEARS  OF  NOVEL-READING. 

2.    Three   types  of  the  king's  party:    (1)   The  old-fashioned 
punctilious  royalist,  Sir   Henry  Lee.      (2)   The  gallant, 
high-bred  cavalier,  Albert  Lee.     (3)   The  reckless,  disso- 
lute cavalier,  Wildrake. 
Debate.  —  Is  the  character  of  Trusty  Tompkins,   the  forcible 
preacher  and  the  low  spy  and  schemer,  consistent  or  possible  ? 
Essay.  —  The  character  of  Cromwell  as  portrayed  in  Woodstock. 
Is  it,  so  far  as  is  now  known,  correct  ? 


TWENTY-SECOXD  NOVEL 

The  Shadow  of  the  Sword,  by  R.  Buchanan. 

Points  to  be  noted  {suggested  by  W.  F.  Moultonj  Esq.,  M.A.). 

Note  especially  the  personality  of  Napoleon.  *'  He  is  not  a 
great  man:  he  has  no  heart."  Discuss  this  statement  of  Mr. 
Arfoll's. 

Debate.  —  Does  Robert  Buchanan  clear  Gwenfem  entirely  of  the 
imputation  of  cowardice  ? 

Essay.  —  The  ethics  of  war. 

TWENTY- THIRD  NO  VEL 

Lorna  Doone,  by  B.  D.  Blackmore. 
Points  to  be  noted  {suggested  by  E.  J.  Mathew,  Esq.,  B.A.). 

1.  The  plot.     Simple  in  itself,  and  somewhat  complicated  in 

the  manner  of  telling.  This  is  done  purposely,  to  throw 
some  light  on  the  character  of  John  Ridd  himself. 

2.  The  local  coloring  of  the  book  is  excellent.     It  conveys  a 

wonderfully  accurate  idea  of  Devonshire  and  Somerset. 
Many  tales  dealing  with  special  localities  are  capital  for 
those  who  already  know  those  localities.  Lorna  Doone 
goes  farther  than  this.  Note  also  the  racial  hatreds  be- 
tween Celt  and  Saxon,  especially  when  a  Cornish  person 
is  introduced. 

3.  Note  how  carefully  and    consistently  the  characters  are 

drawn;  how  each  keeps  its  individuality  throughout  the 
book.     Note  especially  the  clever  studies  of  woman.    Mrs. 


WORK  DONE  BY  THE  C.  N,  R.  CI.  39 

Eidcl,  the  two  sisters,  Ruth  Huckaback  and  Betty  Mux- 
worthy,  being  all  really  more  complicated  than  Lorna 
herself. 
4.  Note  the  style  of  the  book.  The  prose  often  has  a  wonder- 
ful rhythm  and  ordered  movement  about  it,  so  that  it 
sometimes  comes  to  be  almost  blank  verse.  Also  note 
the  aivthor's  keen  eye  for  color  and  effect  in  describing 
scenery. 

Debate.  —  The  nature  of  the  book.     Is  it,  or  is  it  not,  romantic  ? 

Essay.  —  The  character  of  John  Ridd. 

TWENTY-FOURTH  NOVEL 

Our  Mutual  Friend,  by  Charles  Dickens. 

Points  to  he  noted  {suggested  by  the  Earl  of  Suffolk). 

1.  Note  how  greed  will  swamp  and  extinguish  gratitude,  as 

shown  by  Silas  Wegg  and  Mr.  Boffin,  and  the  reverse  as 
shown  by  the  Boffins  in  their  conduct  to  their  late  em- 
ployer's son. 

2.  Note  Dickens's  view  of  the  Poor  Law,  as  illustrated  in  the 

life  of  Betty  Iligden. 

Essay.  — Dickens  and  Thackeray:  a  contrast. 

Debate.  —  Was  Harmon  justified  in  concealing  his  identity  after 
he  knew  of  his  supposed  murder  ? 

Difficulty  Raised.  —  Is  it  possible  for  a  man  to  be  at  the  same 
time  so  shrewd  and  so  unsuspicious  as  Mr.  Boffin  (always  re- 
membering his  position  in  life)  is  represented  to  be  ? 

TWENTY-FIFTH  NOVEL 

The  Count  of  Monte  Cristo,  by  Alexander  Dumas. 
Points  to  be  noted  {suggested  by  Prof.  R.  G.  Moulton). 

1.  Tlie  Count  of  Monte  Cristo  is  a  masterpiece  of  the 
French  school,  especially  suitable  for  the  study  of  fiction 
from  its  many-sidedness.  It  is  a  terrible  tragedy,  an 
elaborate  study  of  human  nature  and  society  ;  and  in  par- 
ticular, it  is  a  consummate  piece  of  literary  workmanship 
from  beginning  to  end. 


40  FOUR   YEARS  OF  NOVEL-READING. 

2.  Note  some  of  the  details  by  which  Dumas  builds  up  a  sense 

of  mysterious  and  irresistible  power  as  attaching  to  his 
hero. 

3.  Note  the  following  personages  considered   as  race-types: 

Femand,  Danglars,  Mercedes,  Haydee,  Caderousse,  Ber- 
tuccio,  Faria,  Vampa. 

4.  Note  the  retribution  upon  Villefort,  Danglars,  Femand, 

and  Caderousse. 
Essay». 

1.  Trace  in  complete  outline  one  of  the  main  schemes  of  retri- 

bution in  the  story. 

2.  Show   how   Monte   Cristo's    sense  of   his  mission  as   an 

Earthly  Providence  begins  to  e'we  way. 


ESSAYS 


WHY  IS   CHARLES   DICKENS   A   MORE 

FAMOUS   NOVELIST   THAN 

CHARLES   READE? 


WHY  IS   CHARLES  DICKENS  A  MORE 

FAMOUS   NOVELIST   THAN 

CHARLES   READE? 


The  fact  of  Dickens's  popularity  is  established  beyond 
all  question.  Any  one  who  doubts  this  has  only  to  make 
investigation  at  any  reference  library  to  find,  that,  be- 
sides the  various  editions  of  Dickens's  novels  which  meet 
the  demands  and  resources  of  every  class  of  people, 
there  is  a  constantly  increasing  literature  which  has 
taken  root  and  flourishes  on  every  item  of  Dickens's 
life,  habits,  haunts,  works,  and  philosophy. 

Ask,  on  the  other  hand,  for  information  about  Reade, 
and  you  will  meet  with  doubtful  answers.  A  few  in- 
complete notices  of  his  life  in  biographical  dictionaries 
will  be  shown  you,  the  fact  that  he  is  dead  will  be  in- 
sisted on,  and  you  will  be  told  that  a  sixpenny  edition 
of  his  books  is  being  published. 

Yet  Walter  Besant,  no  mean  novelist,  places  Reade 
at  the  head  of  his  profession,  and  Algernon  Charles 
Swinburne  indorses  and  strengthens  Besant's  verdict. 
What  that  verdict  is  the  subjoined  quotations  will 
show. 

43 


44  FOUR    YEARS  OF  NOVEL-READING. 

"  If  all  English-speaking  readers  were  to  vote  for  the 
best  of  living  novelists,  there  can  be  little  doubt  that  they 
would  name  Charles  Reade.  I  am  one  of  those  who  would 
so  vote.  I  entirely  agree  with  the  popular  verdict.  I,  for 
one,  consider  that  Reade  takes  rank  with  Fielding,  Smollet, 
Scott,  Dickens,  and  Thackeray ;  that  is  to  say,  in  the  great 
and  delightful  art  of  fiction,  wherein  the  English  —  who 
are  always,  in  every  age,  doing  something  better  than  their 
neighbors  —  have  surpassed  the  world,  Charley  Reade 
stands  among  the  foremost  and  best.  .  .  .  Let  those  who 
appreciate  the  best,  the  most  faithful,  the  highest  work  in 
the  Royal  Art  of  Fiction,  salute  the  Master." — Walter 
Besant  in  The  Gentleman. 

"  He  has  left  not  a  few  pages  which,  if  they  do  not  live 
as  long  as  the  English  language,  will  fail  to  do  so  through 
no  fault  of  their  own,  but  solely  through  the  malice  of  ac- 
cident, by  which  so  many  reputations  worthy  of  a  longer 
life  have  been  casually  submerged  or  eclipsed.  .  .  .  Tliat 
he  was  at  his  very  best,  and  that  not  very  rarely,  a  truly 
great  writer  of  a  truly  noble  genius,  I  do  not  understand 
how  any  competent  judge  of  letters  could  possibly  hesitate 
to  affirm."  —  Algernon  Charles  Swinburne. 

These  are  valuable  testimonials  to  the  fame  of  any 
writer ;  but  we  have  undertaken  to  prove  that  Reade's 
novels  will  never  become  classics,  and  to  find  out  why 
in  this  respect  they  differ  from  those  of  Dickens. 
Classics  may  be  roughly  defined  as  being  works  which 
will  live.  The  Iliad  is  a  classic,  so  is  the  Bible,  so  is 
La  Divina  Commedia.,  so  are  u^aop's  Fables.  All  these 
diverse  books  agree  in  three  great  essentials :  they  are 
written  from    the  heart   of   man   (not  a  man)  to  the 


IS  DICKENS  MORE  FAMOUS   THAN  READE?     45 

heart  of  man;  tliey  are  not  in  any  prevailing  fashion, 
which  might  become  out  of  date,  but  in  the  chameleon 
garb  of  an  ever-changing  universe  ;  and  they  were  not 
written  to  make  a  book,  or  for  any  other  reason  than 
that  the  writers  were  thrilled  by  a  touch  on  the  cord 
that  binds  us  to  the  highest  and  lowest  in  creation,  and 
being  so  thrilled,  had  to  pass  on  the  mighty  influence, 
whether  it  suited  their  momentary  convenience  or  not. 
The  live  coal  from  off  the  altar  of  inspiration  which  has 
touched  the  lips  of  all  our  great  classical  writers  has 
been  as  different  as  the  lips  it  has  touched.  But  it  has 
always  been  burning  with  scorn  of  some  fundamental 
sin  of  our  race,  not  sputtering  fitfully  with  party 
spites  and  parish  cabals. 

The  knowledge  of  a  worthy  aim,  and  the  conscious- 
ness of  being  a  mouthpiece  of  what  the  Germans  call 
the  "  Zeitgeist,"  gives  a  leisureliness,  a  grand  even-paced 
march  to  the  style  of  great  writers,  which  is  as  different 
as  possible  from  the  forceless  fretting  of  the  small  an- 
tagonist of  local  abuses.  Let  us  fix  firmly  in  our  minds 
that,  thongli  vogue  seems  greater  than  fame  at  times,  it 
is  no  more  so  in  reality  than  a  firework  is  brighter  than 
the  stars,  or  a  fashionable  song  more  enduring  than  a 
melody  of  Beethoven's. 

Now,  the  above  remarks  apply,  of  course,  only  indi- 
rectly to  novels,  which  are,  as  it  were,  merely  the  blos- 
soms of  literature.  But,  seeing  that  only  one  reader 
out  of  twenty  makes  any  pretence  of  reading  anything 


46  FOUR    YEARS  OF  NOVEL-READING. 

but  fiction,  it  is  necessary  for  connoisseurs  of  novel-read- 
ing to  be  able  to  distinguish  a  good  novel  from  a  bad 
one.  Reduced  to  its  elements,  the  judgment  of  a  novel 
must  go  on  the  same  lines  as  that  of  any  other  literary 
work ;  but,  lest  the  definition  we  have  supplied  should 
seem  inapproi)riate  to  such  books  as  tliose  we  are  con- 
sidering, we  will  go  into  detail,  and  deal  more  with 
concrete  examples. 

All  good  things  are  in  trinities ;  therefore  again  we 
demand  three  qualities  in  the  novel  we  like  to  read. 
We  demand  firstly,  that  it  shall  not  bore  us ;  secondly, 
that  it  shall  not  bear  the  stamp  of  untruth  on  its  face  ; 
and  thirdly,  that  it  shall  leave  us  better  men  and  women 
than  it  found  us. 

Now,  api)lying  our  fii-st  standard  of  excellence  to 
Reade's  three  best-known  novels,  we  are  compelled  to 
confess  that  his  company  wearies  us  extremely.  His 
chamcters  are  not  alive,  the}^  never  were,  and  we  are  too 
thankful  to  know  that  tliey  never  will  be.  In  creating 
them  he  seems  to  have  said  to  himself,  "  I  want  an 
innocent,  pure-minded  girl  in  this  chapter,"  —  or  "I 
want  a  villain,"—  or  "  a  comic  doctor,"  as  the  case  may 
be,  and  forthwith  he  turns  his  eye  inward  to  see  what 
his  own  idea  of  such  an  article  is  ;  then,  without  com- 
paring his  conception  of  it  with  the  specimens  around 
him,  he  drags  out  his  material,  and  sticks  it  together, 
labels  it  "  high-souled  maiden,"  "  honest,  eccentric  doc- 
tor," "fastidious   matron,"  or  "noble-minded  man  of 


IS  DICKENS  MORE  FAMOUS   THAN  READE  ?     47 

God,"  and  hangs  the  incidents  of  his  certainly  clever 
plots  upon  the  pegs  so  mechanically  provided. 

He  is  not  content  with  this  cataloguing  of  his  people: 
he  allows  them  each  only  one  spring  of  action,  and  one 
method  of  expressing  themselves.  And  3'et  with  all 
this  we  have  no  mental  picture  of  his  personages  be- 
fore our  eyes.  His  character  sketches  are  not  graphic, 
tljough  his  narrative  is.  If  he  had  used  half  the  knowl- 
edge and  energy  in  telling  about  his  humans  tliat  he 
has  done  in  describing  his  storms,  dangers,  and  acci- 
dents, he  might  have  taken  a  much  higher  place  than 
he  has  done  amongst  his  brother  writers. 

After  all,  it  is  human  nature  most  of  us  care  to  read 
about,  human  nature  as  acted  on  by  this  and  that 
event;  not  events  disconnected  from  their  human  sur- 
roundings, and  forced  into  undue  prominence  by  three 
black  pencil  marks,  and  a  host  of  exclamation  notes 
and  changes  of  type,  to  attract  our  attention  to  them. 

We  might  draw  up  a  list  of  Reade's  characters  with- 
out difficulty,  and  it  would  stand  thus :  — 

Prigs :  Alfred  Hardie,  George  Fielding,  William 
Fielding,  Frank  Eden,  the  clergyman  in  Foul  Play 
(whose  name  has  escaped  us),  Mr.  Saunders,  etc. 

Bashful  maidens  inclined  to  piety :  Julia  Dodd,  Jane 
Hardie,  Susan  Merton,  Clu'istie  Johnstone,  and  the 
heroine  of  Foul  Play^  etc. 

Comic  doctors  (N.B.  All  Reade's  medical  men  are 
comic,   and    most  of   them   empirics) :    Drs.    Sampson, 


48  FOUR    YEARS  OF  NOVEL-READING. 

Wycheiiy,  Aberford,  the  leech  in  The  Cloister  and  the 
Hearth^  etc. 

Villains  (in  whom  it  is  impossible  to  be  interested) : 
Mr.  Hardie,  Noah  Skinner,  Mr.  Meadowes,  Peter  Craw- 
ley, Hawes,  Ghysbrecht,  etc.,  and  so  ad  infinitum. 

We  may  be  certain  that  whenever  a  member  of  our 
first  list  comes  on  the  scene,  particularly  if  he  is  set  to 
anything  in  the  nature  of  love-making,  he  will  deliver 
himself  in  rounded  periods  —  preferably  in  Latin.  Tlie 
trail  of  the  serpent  of  prudery  and  pedantry  is  over 
them  all. 

Take  an  example  :  — 

Alfred  Hardie  has  been  separated  from  his  Julia  for 
a  long  and  agonizing  period.  It  is  night;  stars  twinkle, 
zephyrs  whisper;  the  bereaved  heroine,  gazing  from  her 
lattice,  heai*s  a  sigh.  Enter  the  enamoured  Alfred  with 
the  following  amazing  speech :  — 

"  Cicero  says,  ^quitas  ipsa  lucet  per  se.  And  yet  I 
hesitate  and  doubt  in  a  matter  of  right  and  wrong  like  an 
academic  philosopher,  weighing  and  balancing  mere  aca- 
demic straws." 

Perhaps  it  is  unconsciously  done,  but  certainly  Reade 
is  a  genius  in  the  particular  of  placing  his  good  young 
men  in  the  undignified  position  of  being  wooed  by 
women  whom  they  do  not  love.  It  requires  a  St. 
Antony  to  retain  his  equilibrium  and  avoid  looking 
ridiculous  under  such  circumstances.     This  fact  Reade 


IS  DICKENS  MORE  FAMOUS   THAN  READEf     49 

evidently  overlooks,  for  in  every  case  (those  of  Alfred 
and  Mrs.  Archbold,  and  Gerard  and  the  Princess 
Clalia,  for  instance)  he  enlarges  on  the  subject  with 
repulsive  circumstantiality  and  detail.  In  fact,  through- 
out the  three  books  we  are  more  particularly  consid- 
ering,—  Hard  Oash^  It  is  Never  Too  Late  to  Mend^  and 
Foul  Play^  —  our  author  shows  an  overwhelming  de- 
sire to  revel  in  unpleasing  particulars.  It  would  have 
been  an  immense  help  to  him,  as  a  genre  writer,  if  any- 
body could  have  brought  home  to  him  the  truth,  that 
in  books,  as  in  civilized  life,  the  operations  of  the  scul- 
lery and  dressing-room  are  not  considered  suitable  for 
exhibition  in  cultured  society. 

It  is  strange  that  he  should  have  suffered  from  this 
tendency,  for  he  lived  and  wrote  before  the  days  when 
nastiness  and  physiological  monstrosities  were  consid- 
ered to  give  realism  to  fiction. 

It  is  not  so  much  coarseness  in  him,  as  a  certain  con- 
stant tendency  to  vulgarity  in  small  details ;  the  male 
side  of  the  quality  whose  female  counterpart  produces 
Keynotes^  The  Heavenly  Twins^  Salome,  and  Trilby. 

Now,  to  take  the  other  side  of  the  question,  Dickens's 
characters,  although  many  of  them  seem  to  be  copies  of 
one  another,  are  specialized,  living,  breathing  entities ; 
complex  souls  in  recognizable,  individual  bodies.  His 
young  men  are  alive  with  all  the  virtues  and  vices, 
hopes  and  little  ambitions,  tricks  of  costume  and  man- 
ner, eccentricities  and  follies,  of  all  the  young  men  any 


50  FOUR    YEARS   OF  NOVEL-READING, 

of  us  know.  They  act  in  the  vacillating,  provisional 
way  in  which  young  men  have  a  habit  of  acting ;  and 
they  make  their  history,  instead  of  merely  illustrating 
a  ready-made  one.  Whether  we  like  or  dislike  them, 
we  have  an  interest  in  them,  and  are  sorry  when  no 
more  is  to  be  heard  of  them. 

Compare  Nicholas  Nickleby,  David  Copperfield,  Pip, 
Herbert  Pocket,  Martin  Chuzzlewit,  or  Arthur  Clen- 
nam,  with  any  of  lleade's  monstrosities,  and  the  rea- 
son of  the  latter's  failui-e  to  enlist  our  sympathies  will 
be  at  once  apparent. 

Dickens's  world  is  evidently  studied  from  this  one 
in  which  we  suffer  and  enjoy,  only  its  general  trend  is 
visibly  upward.  His  atmosphere  is  a  little  purer  than 
this  of  ours,  but  we  feel  we  are  at  home;  his  very 
streets  and  rooms  are  well  known  to  us,  and  the  faces 
of  his  motley  company  are  those  of  familiar  friends. 
He  plays  gently  and  harmoniously  on  those  cords 
which  are  common  to  the  fastidious  aesthete  and  the 
half-civilized  squatter.  Can  any  one  forget  the  quiet 
beauty  of  Bret  Harte's  "  Dickens  in  Camp  "  ?  The  evi- 
dent truth  of  this  slight  poem  is  a  triumphant  answer 
to  the  accusation  sometimes  heard  that  Dickens  is  too 
local  and  too  limited  in  range  to  attain  immortality. 
Association  with  his  charactei-s  is  like  living  with  a 
chatty,  good-humored,  high-principled  companion,  in 
whose  society  we  grow  unconsciously  better  and  wiser, 
whilst   forgetting   our  sins   and   sorrows,   our  unpaid 


IS  DICKENS  MORE  FAMOUS   THAN  READE  ?     51 

bills,  and  our  depression  when  a  pessimistic  mood 
assails  us. 

We  have  said  that  the  second  requisite  of  a  really 
good  novel  should  be  trutli.  It  seems  a  paradox,  and 
yet  it  is  not  so. 

We  know  perfectly  well  that  theatre  scenes  are 
painted  canvas,  and  that  the  hero's  wounds  and  the 
heroine's  tears  are  merely  shams ;  but  as  soon  as  some 
hitch  in  the  machinery  or  ill-directed  light  forces  the 
fact  upon  our  notice,  we  lose  interest.  Our  minds 
never  were  deceived ;  but  we  allowed  our  senses  to  be 
hoodwinked,  and  have  a  right  to  be  indignant  when 
our  complacency  is  abused.  Reade  lets  the  unreality 
of  his  scenes  and  stories  peep  through  continually; 
now  it  is  the  unearthly  virtues  of  his  good  people, 
now  the  unrelieved  badness  of  his  sinners,  now  one 
inaccurate  technicality,  and  now  another.  His  design 
in  most  of  his  novels  is  to  expose  and  correct  some 
crying  social  abuse,  and  he  does  his  fighting  with  a 
great  Teutonic  sledge-hammer. 

The  thuds  of  a  sledge-hammer  are  not  true  fiction. 
We  become  irritated  by  the  chorus  of  "  Bump !  Bump ! 
Bump ! "  all  through  tlie  story.  We  feel  like  men 
lost  in  a  maze,  in  which  every  path  leads  up  to  the 
same  unpleasant  bugbear.  And  if  ever  we  do  lose 
ourselves  for  a  moment  in  the  narrative,  out  steps  the 
author  to  nudge  us,  or  supply  copious  explanations 
anent  the  galvanic  gambollings  of  his  marionettes. 


52  FOUR   YEARS  OF  NOVEL-READING. 

It  is  not  in  human  nature  to  bear  these  nudgings 
patiently.  Why  are  we  supposed  to  require  the  ser- 
vices of  the  "Flapper"  described  in  Gullivers  Traveh? 
Other  authors  can  trust  us  to  digest  their  good  tilings 
without  having  them  peptonized  for  us;  and  if  they 
suspect  their  work  is  above  our  capacity,  they  know 
better  than  to  destroy  the  verisimilitude  of  their  stories 
by  coming  out  before  the  footlights  to  puff  their  per- 
formances. This  unfortunate  predilection  Incomes 
more  marked  wlien  Reade  undertakes  to  be  funny. 

The  account  of  Mrs.  Dodd's  suitors  in  chapter  thirty- 
nine  of  Hard  Cash^  and  the  overloaded  description  of 
how  Mr.  Hardie  cooked  his  accounts  in  chapter  six- 
teen, are  good  examples  of  this. 

In  passing  we  may  remark  that  Reade's  humor  is 
not  of  a  high  order,  being  for  the  most  part  of  a  very 
commonplace  burlesque  type. 

He  has  comic  passages,  it  is  true,  such  as  the  death- 
bed scene  of  Jane  Hardie;  but  these  flashes  of  fun 
are  not  produced  intentionally,  and  owe  their  piquancy 
principally  to  their  delightful  incongruity. 

Judging  from  this  author's  singular  choice  of  epi- 
thets, one  would  say  that  —  to  adapt  Lowell's  criticism 
of  Shakespeare  —  ''The  hot  conception  of  the  author 
had  no  time  to  cool  while  he  was  debating  the  com- 
parative respectfibility  of  this  word  or  that;  but  he 
snatched  what  word  his  instinct  prompted ;  "  and  in 
Reade's  case  his  instincts,  not  being  perfectly  true, 
have  prompted  him  wrongly. 


IS  DICKENS  MORE  FAMOUS   THAN  READE?     53 

Gentlemen  and  ladies  "  purr  "  to  each  other  in  his 
pages ;  the  heroine  "  gurgles  "  her  love  ;  an  "  iron 
young  woman"  is  engaged  to  nurse  an  invalid;  the 
second  walking-gentlemen's  "  lion  eyes "  are  contin- 
u,ally  staring  the  "  dove-like  "  ones  of  the  second 
heroine  "  out  of  countenance  and  into  love ; "  and  so 
on  and  so  on,  through  a  whole  host  of  twisted  meta- 
phors, grammatical  errors,  and  errors  in  taste. 

He  has  missed  the  intimate  connection  there  is  be- 
tween the  word  and  the  thing,  and  has  written  pages 
of  slipshod  English,  of  which  a  schoolboy  might  well 
be  ashamed. 

Now  Dickens,  although  verbose  and  garrulous  as  be- 
fits a  writer  of  his  peculiar  calibre,  is  always  picturesque 
and  felicitous.  He  is  quite  as  heated  in  the  warfare  of 
riglit  against  wrong  as  Reade  ;  but  he  knows  that  the 
novel  which  is  only  a  series  of  furious  diatribes  fails  of 
its  legitimate  aim,  and  also  misses  its  ostensible  one  by 
over-strenuousness. 

He  knows  also  that  the  keen  shaft  of  satire  will  open 
joints  in  armor  which  will  not  yield  to  hammering, 
and  he  makes  good  use  of  his  knowledge.  He  never 
calls  your  attention  to  tlie  unreality  of  his  puppet-show, 
not  he ;  he  believes  in  it  all  himself,  and  is  sure  his  read- 
ers will  believe  too.  His  account  of  things  compared 
to  Reade's  is  as  Carlyle's  History  of  the  French  Revolu- 
tion compared  to  tliat  of  Tliiers. 

Reade's  club,  bristling  with  facts  and  statistics,  is 
powerless  when  pitted  against  Dickens's  stiletto, 


54  FOUR   YEARS  OF  NOVEL-READING. 

As  regards  the  third  demand  we  make  of  a  novel, 
we  will  not  go  so  far  as  to  say  that  Reade  does  not 
write  in  an  improving  manner. 

He  does  elevate  the  banners  of  purity,  truth,  and  love 
—  and  then  blinds  us  by  flapping  them  in  our  faces. 
He  advocates  district>visiting ;  but  in  two  of  his  books 
he  tells  us  what  a  thankless  office  it  is,  and  liow  little 
sympathy  the  objects  of  our  charity  have  for  any  woes 
but  their  own.  (This,  by-the-by,  proves  how  little  he 
knows  about  it.  The  poor  are  not  unsympathetic,  and 
not  more  ungrateful  than  the  rich.)  Perhaps  the  fact 
that  the  fair  districtrvisitors  used  their  charities  un- 
blushingly  as  a  patent  balm  for  heartbreak  may  explain 
the  unsatisfactory  results  of  their  pliilanthropy. 

He  makes  goodness  generally,  save  in  the  case  of 
Gerard  and  Christie  Johnstone,  a  spiritless,  colorless 
thing.  We  feel,  with  Mark  Twain,  that  moral  excel- 
lence is  petrifaction,  and  religious  sensibility  a  disease ; 
and  "  we  don't  want  to  be  like  any  of  his  good  people, 
we  prefer  a  little  healthy  wickedness." 

Dickens,  on  the  other  hand,  without  arousing  our 
combativeness  by  preaching,  shows  us  the  folly  and  ri- 
diculousness of  being  wicked,  and  leaves  color  and  mo- 
tion in  his  good  people,  so  that  we  can  follow  in  their 
steps  without  fear  of  unwholesome  consequences.  A 
comparison  of  Agnes  Wickfield  with  Jane  Hardie  or 
Margaret  Brandt  will  best  illustrate  our  meaning. 

It  only  remains  for  us  to  say  that,  in  the  matter  of 


IS  DICKENS  MORE  FAMOUS   THAN  READE  f     55 

plot  and  descriptions  of  stirring  incidents  by  flood  and 
field,  Reade  as  far  transcends  Dickens  as  the  latter  does 
Reade  in  other  essentials.  The  works  of  both  authors 
have  acquired  through  lapse  of  years  tliat  aloofness 
which  allows  their  relative  values  to  be  correctly  esti- 
mated. 

They  have  gained  what  in  pictures  is  termed  atmos- 
phere. New  men,  new  books,  new  schemes,  are  often 
beautified  by  a  strange  charm  which  disappears  with 
their  novelty,  and  which  yet,  whilst  it  prevails,  forbids 
all  real  criticism  of  their  work.  The  books  of  Reade 
and  Dickens  have  outlived  their  youthful  charm.  The 
special  abuses  against  which  they  appealed  are  for  the 
most  part  abolished. 

It  remains  to  be  seen  how  long  the  man  of  plot  and 
action  will  hold  his  ground  against  the  man  of  domestic 
detail  and  microscopic  analysis.  The  one  is  essentially 
the  mouthpiece  of  his  place  and  time,  the  other  the 
voice  of  all  time  and  all  places. 

One  of  Reade's  books.  The  Cloister  and  the  Hearth, 
has  the  vital  spark  in  it  and  will  live ;  the  others  will 
not.  As  for  Dickens's  works,  it  may  be  said  of  them, 
as  was  said  of  a  much  greater  book,  that  if  his  novels 
were  all  burnt  to-morrow,  they  could  be  collected  and 
reconstructed  from  the  hearts  of  readers,  in  courts  and 
cottages  at  home  and  abroad. 

ELLEN  CUMPSTON. 


ESSAYS 


CLARA  MIDDLETON 


CLARA  MIDDLETON 


Meredith  is  the  Browning  of  the  novel,  and  whatever 
may  be  the  popular  estimate  of  his  work,  to  the  student 
it  is  unique  in  that  it  requires  something  of  the  concen- 
trative  energy  tliat  we  give  to  science,  if  not  also  a 
special  mental  fitness,  before  it  can  be  thoroughly  en- 
joyed. Hence,  those  for  whom  the  novel  is  merely  a 
pastime  for  an  idle  hour  must  leave  him  to  find  their 
recreation  in  more  commonplace  fiction.  And  this  pref- 
erence will  not  be  an  indication  of  the  incompre- 
hensibility of  Meredith  solely,  but  an  evidence  of  the 
wrong  impression  which  exists  as  to  the  function  of 
classical  fiction,  and,  in  regard  to  Meredith,  the  quality 
and  nature  of  his  work.  The  Egoist^  for  example,  is 
comedy  —  with  the  Greek  flavor ;  and  this  qualifying 
phrase  is  distinctive,  without  depreciating  either  the 
humor  or  satire  of  other  novelists. 

Hence,  in  The  Egoist  we  may  find  fresh  stimulus  for 
our  literary  studies,  and  Clara  Middleton  may  fitly  be 
selected  from  the  mass  to  show  in  some  pomts  the 
special  method  of  Meredith  in  characterization. 

It  may,  indeed,  be  held  that  some  responsibility  is 

59 


60  FOUR    YEARS  OF  NOVEL-READING. 

incurred  in  making  our  choice,  and  that  the  delicate 
tints  of  light  and  shade  in  this  character,  so  pleasing 
to  the  individual  sense  in  the  seclusion  of  the  study, 
will  be  destroyed  by  the  inrush  of  the  garish  light  of 
publicity.  The  difficulty  of  attempting  to  reconstruct 
the  character  by  means  of  criticism  (always  a  clu^msy 
method,  but  unfortunately  the  best  we  know)  is  fully 
appreciated ;  and  the  attempt  to  materialize  her  by  pro- 
jecting her  into  the  world,  as  seen  througli  tlie  medium 
,  of  any  sense  save  that  of  the  author's,  may  seem  the 
grossest  sacrilege.  Yet  the  character  is  so  fine  a  study 
in  the  feminine,  and  affords  so  many  splendid  oppor- 
tunities for  contrast  and  comparison  with  the  feminino 
creations  of  other  authors,  and  at  the  same  time  gives 
the  further  opportunity  of  saying  something  about  the 
influences  which  have  gone  to  mould  the  character- 
ization of  women  in  English  fiction  in  the  past,  that 
scruples  may  be  laid  to  one  side  for  the  nonce,  and  — 
though  at  the  risk  of  the  charge  of  egotism  —  we  may 
proceed  to  analyze  the  character. 

I  say  "  in  the  past,"  because  Clara  Middleton  is  a 
point  of  departure  from  the  conventional  characteriza- 
tion of  women  in  English  fiction.  The  moral  forces 
which  have  dominated  and  restrained  the  artist's  hand 
hitherto  are  here  wholly  set  aside ;  but  a  master-hand 
has  effected  the  changes,  and  they  are  wrought  so 
strongly  and  withal  so  delicately,  that  the  character  has 
passed  the  usual  criticism  without  attracting  the  notice 


CLARA    MIDDLETON.  61 

that  it  would  have  attracted  had  they  been  wrought 
by  one  less  skilful  at  his  craft. 

There  are  two  points  in  the  character  to  which  we 
may  give  special  attention,  as  their  combination  has 
hitherto  been  considered  impracticable,  if  we  look  at 
them  from  the  point  of  view  of  the  traditional  character 
with  which  the  older  novelists  of  the  nineteenth  century 
have  invested  Avomen  in  English  fiction. 

In  the  first  place,  Clara  Middleton  is  essentially  Eng- 
lish. Tliis,  it  may  be  presumed,  the  majority  of  readers 
feel  instinctively,  and  believe  because  of  the  affirma- 
tion of  instinct,  rather  than  because  it  may  be  shown 
by  a  critical  estimate  of  the  character.  It  is  necessary, 
however,  to  make  this  estimate;  for  the  other  charac- 
teristic wliich  Meredith  has  developed  in  Clara  Middle- 
ton  would  not  have  been  such  a  singular  innovation 
had  it  not  been  combined  with  one  that  is  peculiarly 
English. 

Let  us,  then,  begin  by  saying  that  she  has  that  sobri- 
ety of  mind  and  temperament  which  is  a  truly  national 
chai'acteristic,  and  which  is  the  product  of  our  insu- 
larity and  our  social  morality.  Some  insistence  might 
be  given  to  this  point ;  because  we  can  no  more  mould 
or  approximate  to  the  English  character  upon  any  Con- 
tinental model  than  we  can  fly,  and  this  even  in  de- 
spite of  our  modern  cosmopolitan  culture.  Our  national 
character  has  a  peculiar  flavor  —  if  I  may  so  phrase  it 
—  in  this  respect,  and  it  is  impossible  to  define  it  with 


62  FOUR    YEARS  OF  NOVEL-READING. 

any  great  exactitude ;  but  it  is  so  truly  the  outgrowth 
of  our  institutions  and  training  that  none  but  the  wil- 
fully blind  can  mistake  the  phlegm  or  stoicism  of  some 
of  our  Continental  neighbors  for  this  English  sobriety, 
which  combines  at  once  serene  self-possession  with  en- 
terprise and  effort  for  precedence. 

Then  we  have,  in  addition  to  this,  that  love  of  liberty 
and  nature  which  is  our  common  heritage,  —  the  love  of 
liberty  common  to  all  the  English,  and  of  nature  accord- 
ing to  the  opportunities  which  are  held  out  by  the 
circumstances  and  conditions  of  our  lives.  "  For  it  may 
be  said  with  perfect  truth  that  the  instinctive  love  of 
nature  is  as  truly  a  characteristic  of  the  English  as  the 
love  of  liberty;  but  it  is  suppressed  in  many  instances 
by  the  more  serious  business  of  life. 

In  the  character  of  Clara  Middleton,  Meredith  has 
blended  each  with  admii-able  precision.  The  limitations 
of  Sir  Willoughby  Patterne's  domains  are  in  her  mind 
always  associated  with  the  narrow,  prescribed  area  of 
his  mind ;  and  she  is  painfully  aware  that  the  scope  for 
her  activities  in  the  future  when  she  has  become  his 
wife  are  too  circumsciibed  for  her  nature.  The  great 
point  insisted  upon  here  by  the  novelist  is  the  perfect 
poise  which  her  love  of  nature  and  liberty  gives  to  her 
deportment;  and  this  adjustment  to  which  her  life  con- 
forms, and  by  which  it  is  governed,  is  the  ideal  charac- 
teristic of  the  English. 

Then  add  to  this  her  variety — her  whims  and  fan- 


CLARA   MIDDLETON.  63 

cies,  if  you  choose,  or,  as  her  father  calls  them,  '-'•  the 
prerogative  of  the  feminine."  Is  there  not  here  a  re- 
flex of  the  climate,  with  its  alternations  of  cloud  and 
shine,  of  tempest  and  peace  ?  All  this  appears  to  me  so 
essentially  English,  that  I  must  apologize  for  treating 
of  it  here.  I  am  afraid,  after  all,  that  the  instinctive 
feeling  that  she  is  English  will  outweigh  any  calm 
analysis  that  pretended  to  separate  the  different  ele- 
ments, and  show  that  the  ultimate  result  of  the  combi- 
nation is  to  make  the  Englishwoman.  But,  as  I  said 
before,  it  is  to  make  the  comparison  between  this 
characteristic  and  another  that  is  essentially  un-Eng- 
lish that  I  do  it. 

Then,  what  is  this  un-English  and  antagonistic  ele- 
ment in  Clara  Middleton  which  makes  her  so  essen- 
tially unlike  the  traditional  heroine  of  the  English 
novel  ?  I  would  define  it  simply  as  sensuousness.  She 
is  not  only  beautiful,  but  sensuously  beautiful ;  and  in 
order  to  emphasize  the  definition,  let  me  call  to  my  aid 
an  illustration,  symbolical  and  subtle,  because  natural, 
—  the  Greek  myth  of  Venus  — the  goddess  rising  from 
the  bath  in  all  her  sensuous  beauty,  and  striking  the 
luckless  hunter  blind.  This,  it  appears  to  me,  if  we 
eliminate  the  anger  of  the  goddess  as  a  conventional 
interpolation  of  a  later  age,  is  the  universal  symbol  of 
love  which  strikes  with  blindness  all  who  are  unfortu- 
nately affected.  And  it  applies  to  Clara  Middleton, — 
though  on  the  surface  there  does  not  seem  to  be  any 


64  FOUR   YEARS  OF  NOVEL-READING, 

singularity  in  this,  for  it  may  be  said  that  all  the  nov- 
elists have  unconsciously  echoed  the  symbolism  of  the 
Greek.  Its  application  to  tlie  character  under  discussion 
lies  in  this,  that  while  slie  dazzles  all  beholders  with 
her  charms,  she  also  exercises  to  the  full  that  mys- 
terious sexual  power  which  is  and  has  ever  been  the 
prerogative  of  the  woman. 

But  here  let  me  remark,  lest  I  should  misinterpret 
Meredith,  and  unduly  shock  those  wlio  uphold  the  tra- 
ditional method  of  the  English  novelists,  that  the  ssn- 
suousness  of  Clara  Middleton,  though  analogous  to  that 
element  which  we  meet  with  in  everyday  life,  is  not 
of  the  common  quality.  There  is  visible  in  Meredith's 
creation  neither  moral  laxity  nor  the  mental  aberration 
which  constitutes  the  danger  of  the  characteristic.  It 
is  ideal,  subordinated,  and  subservient  to  the  highest 
art.  There  is  nothing  that  the  prurient  may  revel  in  or 
the  moralists  cavil  at;  but  it  is  impossible  to  help  our- 
selves from  gliding  into  the  atmosphere  of  sensuous- 
ness  wherein  Meredith  has  enveloped  his  creation.  Sir 
Willoughby  Patterne  feels  the  charm  acutely,  after  she 
has  wounded  his  egoism  :  — 

"  He  placed  an  exceedingly  handsome  and  flattering 
young  widow  of  his  acquaintance  .  .  .  beside  Clara  for  a 
comparison;  involuntarily,  and  at  once  ...  in  despite  of 
Lady  Mary's  high  birth  and  connections  as  well,  the  silver 
lustre  of  the  maid  sicklied  the  poor  widow." 

And  Vernon  Whitford's  experience  is  also  telling :  — 


CLARA   MIDDLE  TON.  65 

"  Take  your  chin  off  your  hand,  your  elbow  off  your 
book,  and  fix  yourself,"  said  Vernon,  wrestling  with  the 
seduction  of  Crossjoy's  idolatry;  for  Miss  Middleton's  ap- 
pearance had  been  preternaturally  sweet  on  her  departure, 
and  the  next  pleasure  to  seeing  her  was  hearing  of  her 
from  the  lips  of  this  passionate  young  poet." 

The  Doctor's  babblincr  in  ''  the  HQ-ad  and  c^reat  wine  " 
scene  is  also  effective  :  — 

"1  hoped  once  .  .  .  but  she  is  a  girl.  The  nymph  of 
the  woods  is  in  her.  Still  she  will  bring  you  her  flcwer-cup 
of  Hippocrene.  She  has  that  aristocracy  —  the  noblest. 
She  is  fair.  .  .  .  She  has  no  history.  You  are  the  first 
heading  of  the  chapter.  With  you  she  will  have  one  tale, 
as  it  should  be.  You  know  —  most  fragrant  she  that 
smells  of  nought  —  she  goes  to  you  from  me,  from  me 
alone,  from  her  father  to  her  husband." 

And  then  follows  the  experience  of  Sir  Willoughby  as 
lie  had  seen  her  :  — 

"  Distressingly  sweet ;  .  .  .  sweet  with  sharpness  of 
young  sap.  Her  eyes,  her  lips,  her  fluttering  dress  that 
played  happy  mother  across  her  bosom ;  and  her  laughter, 
her  slim  figure,  peerless  carriage,  all  her  terrible  sweetness 
touched  his  wound  to  the  smarting  quick." 

And    her    sensuous     influence    even    affects    the    boy 
Crossjoy. 

"  Miss  Middleton  lay  back  on  the  grass,  and  said,  ^  Are 
you  going  to  be  fond  of  me,  Crossjoy  ?  ' 

"  The  boy  sat  blinking.  His  desire  was  to  prove  that  he 
was  immoderately  fond  of  her  already,  and  he  might  have 


60  FOUR    YEARS  OF  NOVEL-READING, 

flown  at  her  neck  had  she  been  sitting  up,  but  her  recum- 
bancy  and  eyelids  half-closed  excited  wonder  in  him  and 
awe.     His  young  heart  beat  fast." 

These  examples  are  sufficient  for  the  purpose  of  show- 
ing Meredith's  sensuous  envelopment  of  the  character. 
And  it  is  simply  a  confirmation  of  our  experience, 
that  he,  by  combining  these  characteristics,  has  been 
truer  in  his  delineations  than  those  which  have  been 
before  liirfi  in  English  fiction.  For  we  all  know,  and  it 
is  tacitly  acknowledged,  that  the  sensuous  charm  of  the 
feminine  is  at  all  times  operative.  But  it  is  a  fact  that 
the  older  novelists  have  omitted  or  disguised  with 
one  consent ;  as  if  it  were  possible,  in  analyzing  the 
motives  of  marriage,  or  the  physiology  of  love,  to  leave 
the  sexual  passion  out  of  consideration. 

Take  Thackeray  as  an  example.  His  good  women 
are  nearly  always  insipid, — 

"  Too  good 
For  human  nature's  daily  food." 

In  Pendennis^  Laura  Bell  is  the  representative  of  the 
coming  woman ;  she  is  quite  English,  too,  and  hence, 
I  think,  may  be  fitly  chosen  for  comparison  with  Clara 
Middleton.  In  what,  then,  does  she  differ  from  Mere- 
dith's heroine?  Simply  in  this,  — that  Thackeray  has 
hidden  from  view  the  most  womanly  side  of  the  fem- 
inine miture ;  she  is  full  of  incomparable  excellences, 
but,  as  woman,  she  is  wof  ully  incomplete  as  a  study  in 


CLARA  MIDDLETON.  67 

human  nature,  and  beside  tlie  creation  of  Meredith,  she 
pales  with  ineffectual  fires.  Thackeray  gives  us  the 
unfinislied  sketch;    Meredith  has  filled  in  the  shading. 

And  Thackeray  is  not  alone  in  his  incompleteness  of 
the  study  of  the  feminine ;  generally  speaking,  our  nov- 
elists have  not  dared  to  deal  with  the  hidden  emotions 
of  life,  or,  if  they  have,  they  have  dealt  with  them 
impalpably,  and  glozed  them  over  with  a  cloud  of  ver- 
biage, and  left  their  meanings  to  the  imagination. 

Dickens's  studies  in  this  respect  are  inconceivably 
ridiculous.  He  can  paint  the  superficial  emotions,  and 
exaggerate  pathos ;  but  he  makes  you  weep  for  joy 
when  he  attempts  to  reconcile  his  art  in  the  delineation 
of  the  female  character  with  the  conventional  moral 
prejudice  of  the  English  people.  Take  an  example 
from  Dombey  and  Son:  he  makes  Dombey's  Avife  leave 
her  husband  and  go  off  to  the  Continent  with  Carker. 
At  the  conclusion  of  the  journey,  poor  Carker  gets, 
instead  of  loving  caresses,  the  promise  of  a  knife,  and 
the  reader  gets  a  melodrama.  It  is  an  elopement  badly 
conceived  and  worse  executed.  One  is  tempted  to  ask 
what  good  reasons  had  Dickens  for  covering  this  woman 
with  shame,  —  for  he  arouses  the  worst  of  our  social 
prejudices  when  he  makes  her  elope  with  Carker,  —  and 
then  refrain  from  giving  us  the  inevitable  result  of  the 
elopement.  It  is  hardly  possible  to  imagine  anything 
more  foreign  to  human  nature  than  Dickens's  concep- 
tion ;  it  is  false  to  experience,  and  yet  more  false  to  art. 


68  FOUR    YEARS  OF  NOVEL-READING, 

And  Charlotte  Bronte's  Jane  Eyre  is  hardly  better 
in  execution.  There  are  any  number  of  excellent 
reasons  to  justify  Rochester's  treatment  of  Jane  Eyre, 
but  no  amount  of  reason  would  liave  justified  him  had 
the  marriage  ceremony  been  performed.  The  catas- 
trophe which  takes  place  on  the  morning  of  the 
wedding  just  averts  our  prejudice,  and  saves  the  repu- 
tation of  tlie  novelist.  Here,  too,  you  will  see,  our 
moral  censorship  has  to  be  appeased,  and  character  and 
circumstances  have  to  be  moulded  to  suit  our  precon- 
ceived notions  of  these  things. 

Even  George  Eliot  must  bow  to  the  inevitable.  The 
novelist  may  mould  her  life  on  a  principle  above  the 
criticism  of  society,  but  these  instincts  must  not  ap- 
pear in  her  conception  of  feminine  nature  in  her  books. 
Maggie  Tulliver,  in  the  Mill  on  the  Floss,  must  die  an 
unnatural  death,  —  is  drowned  to  appease  the  savage 
instincts  of  our  conventional  momlity.  And  every  one 
must  have  been  struck  with  the  immense  difference 
which  exists  between  Sliakespeare's  conception  of  the 
passionate  Italian  nature  in  Romeo  and  Juliet,  and 
George  Eliot's  conception  of  the  same  passionate 
Italian  nature  in  Romola,  Shakespeare,  of  course,  was 
not  influenced  by  these  conventional  restraints,  and 
could  afford  to  be  true  to  humanity  and  art ;  but  George 
Eliot  could  not,  and  hence  Romola  is  Italian  only  when 
seen  through  the  English  spectacles  of  George  Eliot, 
and  the  passionate  Italian  nature  is  subdued   by  tlie 


CLARA   MIDDLE  TON,  69 

cold  and  bloodless  morality  of  the  English  people  in 
the  nineteenth  century. 

Hence,  then,  Meredith  appears  to  me  to  be  the  point 
of  departure,  as  I  said  at  the  outset,  for  the  better  treat- 
ment of  the  feminine  in  the  future. 

But  I  would  not  stop  here ;  if  Meredith  has  betrayed 
one  of  the  fundamental  canons  of  the  English  novelist's 
craft,  he  has  also  effected  a  reconciliation  between  it 
and  art. 

In  Clara  Middleton  we  approach  nearer  to  Shake- 
speare's conception  of  woman's  nature  and  purpose,  with 
its  natural  artistic  setting  in  frame  of  gold.  She  is 
an  artistic  triumph,  both  in  conception  and  achieve- 
ment ;  "  true  to  the  kindred  points  of  heaven  and 
home." 

Becky  Sharp,  which  I  take  to  be  one  of  the  greatest 
achievements  in  English  fiction  —  in  the  feminine  — 
judged  purely  from  the  standpoint  of  art,  is  incomplete 
when  compared  with  Meredith's  heroine  ;  there  are  un- 
imagined  details  in  her  life  which  Thackeray  omitted  ; 
periods  when  Becky  drops  out  of  existence,  and  even 
the  denizens  of  Vanity  Fair  could  take  no  cognizance 
of  her  actions.  Now,  this  is  due  to  one  of  two  reasons : 
either  it  is  due  to  the  instinctive  sense  of  proportion  in 
the  artist,  or  it  is  due  to  the  influence  which  the  cur- 
rent morality  exercised  over  him  in  this  particular 
direction,  with  the  rest  of  his  brethren,  making  him 
subordinate   his  art  to    conventional    moral   prejudice. 


70  FOUR   YEARS  OF  NOVEL-READING. 

This  last  I  take  to  be  the  true  reason,  and  in  chapter 
sixty-four  in  Vanity  Fair  he  says  so  himself. ' 

Here,  then,  is  the  artist's  acknowledgment  of  liis  fail- 
ure to  complete  his  ideal,  owing  to  certain  predominant 
notions  of  morality  prevailing  in  his  auditory.  He 
must  mix  his  colors  in  lives  in  accordance  with  the 
preferential  tastes  of  society.  He  may,  and  he  has^ 
drawn  in  lines  that  are  indeed  most  strongly  sugges- 
tive. This  is  forgiven,  so  long  as  tlie  naked  reality  is 
hidden ;  but  the  picture  is  still  incomplete,  and  all  these 
gaps  and  evasions  noticeable  in  Becky's  career  mar  the 
perfection  of  his  w^ork,  and  rasp  upon  our  nerves,  mak- 
ing us  wish  that  the  rigidly  moral  tone  of  English 
social  life  had  not  been  so  strongly  developed  as  to 
come  perennially  into  collision  with  the  artist's  concep- 
tion, and  make  ideal  achievement  impossible. 

And  Meredith,  while  giving  in  the  characterization 
of  Clara  Middleton  an  artistic  completeness,  has  left 
nothing  to  cavil  at  in  the  sensuous  charm  which  he  has 
thrown  around  her. 

I  am  aware  that  there  is  a  stage,  as  where  wit  degen- 
erates into  buffooneiy,  so  where  artistic  license  in  lim- 
ning the  erotic  emotions  degenerates  into  licentiousness. 
But  the  days  of  Wycherley  and  Congreve,  with  their 
exaggerated  emphasis  on  the  vices  of  society,  are  over 
in  English  literature.  Theirs  wa.s  not  art ;  it  was  the 
portrayal  of  sensuality  and  vicious  pleasure  for  its 
own  sake.     And  the  delineation  of  vice  which  arises 


CLARA   MIDDLE  TON.  71 

from  the  morbid  pleasure  of  steeping  the  poetic  faculty 
in  sensual  desire  is  perhaps  after  all  the  worst  prostitu- 
tion of  the  artist's  power. 

Meredith  avoids  everything  in  our  human  instincts 
which  would  tend  to  debase  his  ideal.  He  deals  with 
the  hidden  emotions  of  life  only  to  lift  them  out 
of  the  commonplace,  and  set  them  where,  with  true 
poetic  insight,  he  sees  they  will  appear,  not  to  the 
untutored  imagination,  but  to  minds  fitted  to  receive 
the  subtle  intuitions  of  a  master.  And  he  has  withal 
the  power  to  evoke  the  soft  and  radiant  light  which 
has  ever  been  the  strongest  bond  between  master  and 
disciple,  and  which  is  a  truer  guide  to  the  master's 
thought  than  any  skilled  criticism  which  does  not 
vibrate  this  sympathetic  medium. 

Clara  Middleton  is  comparable  to  an  English  spring 
morning,  with  its  inexpressible  charm,  when  the  earth 
is  blushing  with  life,  and  the  sun  is  veiling  his  face  like 
a  coy  maiden  with  the  thin  gray  mist  that  rises  over 
wood  and  field ;  when  the  air  is  instinct,  and  the  birds 
are  singing  their  sweetest  song  of  praise  in  honor  of  the 
new-born  day. 

Tliis  is  the  time  when  nature  appeals  most  directly 
to  us,  by  unveiling  the  sensuous,  glowing  side  of  crea- 
tion, and  the  ordinary  processes  of  life  are  glorified  by 
the  divine  instinct  which  is  flowing  through  our  veins, 
and  tingling  into  pleasant  sensitiveness  the  dormant 
chords   of   our   lives.      Whoever  has   been   penetrated 


72  FOUR   YEARS  OF  NOVEL-READING. 

with  these  emotions  of  nature  in  the  spring  days,  wlien 

"  Nature  is  tremulous  with  excess  of  joy,"  has  felt  the 

charm  which  rises  from  the  contemplation  of  the  rich 

and  rare  embodiment  of   feminine  qualities  in  Clara 

Middleton. 

JOSEPH   FAIRNEY. 


ESSAYS 


THE   IDEAL   OF   ASCETICISM 


THE   IDEAL   OF   ASCETICISM 


The  Cloister  and  the  Hearth  is  a  book  of  considera- 
ble power  and  ability,  which  its  author  has  come  very 
near  to  spoiling,  from  the  aesthetic  point  of  view,  by 
a  most  unhappy  sentence,  and  an  irritating  foot-note 
thereto  attached.  The  sentence  is  on  the  last  page  but 
one,  and  is  as  follows :  — 

"I   ask  your  sympathy,  then,  for  their  rare  constancy 

and  pure  affection,  and   their  cruel  separation  by  a  vile 

heresy  in  the  bosom  of  the  Church ;  but  not  your  pity  for 
their  early  but  happy  end." 

The  foot-note  attached  to  "vile  heresy  "  is  "Celibacy 
of  the  clergy,  an  invention  truly  fiendish."  The  writer 
of  this  essay  would  beg  leave  to  urge  that  this  sentence 
and  its  foot-note  are  to  be  reprobated,  whatever  views 
we  may  hold  on  the  particular  subject  mentioned,  be- 
cause they  unveil  in  a  crude  and  inartistic  manner  a 
purpose  which  the  story  itself,  told  as  it  is  with  such 
power  and  pathos,  would  leave  sufficiently  prominent, 
and  because  they  deal  in  far  too  summary  a  fashion 
with  a  tangled  and  difficult  subject.  The  ascetic  idea 
is  a  many-sided  one,  taking  varying  forms  under  vary- 

76 


76  FOUR   YEARS  OF  NOVEL-READING 

ing  circumstances.  And  it  should  be  observed  at  the 
outset  that  it  is  not  by  any  means  the  invention  of 
Catholic  Christianity,  although  in  our  minds  it  is  very 
largely  associated  with  it.  It  is  by  an  examination 
of  the  principles  on  which  asceticism  has  based  itself, 
and  of  the  varying  forms  in  which  it  has  been  ex- 
hibited, that  we  may  hope  to  get  some  view  of  our 
subject, — "the  ideal  of  asceticism." 

There  was  a  great  deal  of  asceticism  of  a  monastic 
type  deeply  interwoven  in  the  old  religions  of  the 
East,  such  as  Buddhism,  and  the  religion  of  the  Per- 
sian Zoroaster.  Indeed,  monasticism  constitutes  the 
central  feature  of  the  former.  It  seems  to  have  exr 
hibited  itself  in  the  shape  of  a  desire  to  retire  from 
the  impediments  of  ordinary  life,  and  to  seek  after  a 
philosophic  calm  and  contemplation,  together  with  an 
emancipation  as  complete  as  possible  from  the  enchain- 
ing passions  and  affections  of  the  flesh.  It  was  a  stage 
to  which  every  true  Buddhist  was  expected  to  attain 
sooner  or  later  in  his  religious  life.  Such  an  asceticism 
was  inseparably  connected  with  a  principle  common  to 
all  the  prominent  systems  of  philosophy  and  religion 
in  the  East  —  a  belief  in  the  inherent  evil  of  things 
material,  and  so  of  the  flesh  and  the  natural  affections. 
This  type  of  asceticism  was  a  marked  feature  in  the 
philosophy  of  the  Greek  Pythagoras ;  and  it  appeal's 
strongly,  though  in  a  modified  form,  in  the  writings 
of  Plato  and  Aristotle.     It   is   modified  by  the   very 


THE   IDEAL   OF  ASCETICISM.  11 

great  stress  laid  by  these  and  by  most  Greek  thinkers 
on  a  man's  duty  as  a  citizen. 

Christianity,  then,  found  already  existing  in  the 
natures  of  its  Oriental  converts  a  very  strong  ten- 
dency towards  monasticism  ;  and  the  circumstances  by 
which  early  Christianity  was  surrounded,  and  tlie  un- 
swerving standard  of  high  morality  which  Christianity 
upheld,  alike  contributed  to  foster  it.  For  Christian 
monasticism  sprang  into  being  as  a  revolt  from  the 
frightful  wickedness  which  accompanied  the  decay  of 
Pagan  civilization.  The  hideous  license  existing  in 
the  Roman  empire  in  the  days  of  early  Christianity 
has  been  painted  in  lurid  colors  by  many  writers,  and 
the  church  did  not  hesitate  to  make  a  strong  practical 
protest  against  it.  To  the  Christian  the  imperative  call 
seemed  to  be  to  come  out  from  the  midst  of  a  world  of 
hopeless  depravity.  It  can  hardly  be  considered  a 
matter  of  wonder  that  early  Christian  asceticism  soon 
ran  into  excessive  and  exaggerated  forms. 

It  was  in  Egypt  that  monasticism  took  deepest  root, 
and  in  the  third  and  fourth  centuries  there  were  many 
thousands  of  monks  living  in  the  desert  retreats  of 
that  country.  Egyptian  monasticism  took  a  most  exag- 
gerated form.  An  absurd  and  disproportionate  stress 
was  laid  upon  certain  portions  of  the  gospel  teaching. 
Passages  such  as,  "  He  that  loveth  father  or  mother 
more  than  me  is  not  worthy  of  me,"  were  distorted 
beyond    all   recognition,  until   it   became    a  virtue    to 


78  FOUR   YEARS  OF  NOVEL-READING. 

desert  even  Christian  parents  in  the  most  relentlessly 
cruel  manner.  Many  stories  are  to  be  found  in  Lecky's 
Hutory  of  European  Morals  illustrative  of  this.  Mor- 
tification of  the  flesh  was  pursued  to  the  most  rigorous 
extreme,  and  tlie  body  was  lacerated  and  sUirved  in  the 
fierce  endeavor  to  eradicate  every  vestige  of  the  natural 
appetites  of  mankind.  Many  of  the  P^gyptian  monks 
lived  in  solitude,  wrestling  in  utter  loneliness  with  the 
powers  of  evil  which  seemed  to  infect  the  whole  world. 
Tlie  effect  of  such  a  life  of  austerity  and  solitude  was 
often  simply  to  foster  the  horrible  visions  and  imagina- 
tions of  evil  from  which  the  monk  souglit  to  rid  himself. 
The  true  proportion  of  morality  was  thrown  out,  and 
the  domestic  virtues  were  rigorously  suppressed.  "To 
break  by  his  ingratitude  the  heart  of  the  mother  who 
had  borne  him,  to  persuade  the  wife  who  adored  him 
that  it  was  her  duty  to  separate  from  him  forever,  to 
abandon  his  children,  uncared  for  and  beggars,  to  the 
mercies  of  the  world,  was  regarded  by  the 'true  hermit 
as  tlie  most  acceptable  offering  he  could  make  to  his 
God.     His  business  was  to  save  his  own  soul.'* 

The  great  St.  Jerome,  who  did  much  to  foster  and 
encourage  monasticisra,  endeavored  to  regulate  these 
austerities  and  to  restrain  the  more  exas^orerated  forms 
of  mortification  ;  and  as  time  went  on,  this  excess  was 
gradually  regulated.  But  it  was  with  the  growth  of 
that  type  of  monasticism  which  St.  Benedict  founded, 
that  a  better  order  of  things  came  about.     The  earlier 


THE  IDEAL   OF  ASCETICISM.  79 

monasticism  in  its  fanatical  devotion  could  think  of 
notliing  but  the  suppression  of  all  that  was  earthly  ; 
and  even  learning  of  all  kinds  was  rigorously  avoided, 
and  no  useful  work  of  any  sort  was  undertaken.  The 
Benedictine  monasteries,  on  the  other  hand,  were  cen- 
tres of  civilization  and  industry,  doing  much  for  the 
pursuit  of  learning,  and  tilling  the  soil  of  Italy.  In 
fact,  the  strong  practical  bent  of  the  Roman  mind  pro- 
duced a  type  of  asceticism  essentially  diffeient  to  that 
of  the  mystic  Oriental  and  the  philosophic  Greek.  It 
was  an  asceticism  witli  a  purpose,  instead  of  an  asceti- 
cism which  sought  its  end  in  the  suppression  of  all 
that  was  human.  Dean  Milman,  the  author  of  the 
Hutory  of  Latin  Christianity^  is  no  lover  of  monasti- 
cism in  any  form,  but  he  gives  its  due  praise  to  the 
best  Western  monasticism.  "Western  monasticism," 
he  says,  "  in  its  general  charactei',  was  not  the  barren, 
idly  laborious,  or  dreamy  quietude  of  the  East.  It 
was  industrious  and  productive :  it  settled  colonies, 
preserved  arts  and  letters,  built  splendid  edifices,  fer- 
tilized deserts.  If  it  rent  from  the  world  the  most 
powerful  minds,  having  trained  them  by  its  stern  disci- 
pline, it  sent  them  back  to  rule  the  world.  It  continu- 
ally, as  it  were,  renewed  its  youth,  and  kept  up  a 
constant  infusion  of  vigorous  life  ;  now  quickening  into 
enthusiasm,  now  darkening  into  fanaticism,  and  by  its 
perpetual  rivalry  stimulating  the  zeal  or  supplying  the 
deficiencies  of  the  secular  clergy.     In  successive  ages  it 


80  FOUR    YEARS  OF  NOVEL-READING. 

adapted  itself  to  the  state  of  the  human  mind.  At  first 
a  missionary  to  barbarous  nations,  it  built  abbeys,  hewed 
down  forests,  cultivated  swamps,  enclosed  domains,  re- 
trieved or  won  for  civilization  tracts  which  had  fallen 
into  waste  or  had  never  known  culture.  With  St. 
Dominic  it  turned  its  missionary  zeal  upon  Christianity 
itself,  and  spread  as  a  preaching  order  throughout  Chris- 
tendom ;  with  St.  Francis  it  became  even  more  popular, 
and  lowered  itself  to  the  very  humblest  of  mankind." 
And  again  he  speaks  of  Western  monasticism  "  as  the 
missionary  of  what  was  holy  and  Christian  in  the  new 
civilization;  as  the  chief  maintainer,  if  not  the  restorer, 
of  agriculture  in  Italy ;  as  the  cultivator  of  the  for- 
ests and  morasses  of  the  north ;  as  the  apostle  of  the 
heathen  who  dwelt  beyond  the  pale  of  the  Western 
empire." 

In  a  word,  it  was  characteristic  of  Eastern  monasti- 
cism to  content  itself  with  the  morbid  desire  to  repress 
the  affections  and  to  save  the  soul  of  the  individual 
monk  ;  it  was  characteristic  of  the  Western  asceticism 
that  it  associated  men  together,  schooled  them,  and 
disciplined  them  by  a  life  of  regulated  self-denial, 
so  as  to  make  them  available  for  high  and  useful 
purposes. 

This  very  rough  and  inadequate  survey  of  different 
types  of  asceticism  has  been  made  with  the  purpose 
of  leading  up  to  principles;  and  it  should  be  borne  in 
mind  that,  in  all  that  has  been  said,  only  general  ten- 


THE  IDEAL   OF  ASCETICISM.  81 

dencies  have  been  indicated,  and  the  description  of 
monasticism  in  these  different  forms  is  only  true  in 
the  broad. 

The  principle  I  would  now  wish  to  state  is  this : 
asceticism  is  true  or  false,  good  or  bad,  according  as 
it  is  what  may  be  called  athletic  (following  a  well- 
known  metaphor  of  St.  Paul),  or  dualistic.  This 
needs  explanation.  And  first,  what  is  dualism?  Dual- 
ism is  a  system  of  thought  which  builds  itself  on  the 
eternal  antagonism  of  two  principles,  one  good  and  the 
other  bad.  Its  most  obvious  form  is  that  which  per- 
vades Oriental  philosophies  and  religions.  It  teaches 
that  matter  is  inherently  and  essentially  bad.  Only 
spirit  can  be  inherently  and  essentially  good.  The 
body,  or  the  flesh,  is  hopelessly  and  unquestionably 
bad ;  the  soul,  in  so  far  as  it  can  be  freed  from  the 
flesh,  is  good.  The  object  and  aim  of  existence  is, 
therefore,  to  crush  and  ill-use  the  body,  and  restrain  as 
far  as  possible  every  bodily  want  and  appetite,  liowever 
innocent.  This  system  of  thought  existed  in  Persia 
and  India  centuries  before  th^  appearance  of  Chris- 
tianity. It  is  sometimes  knov^ii  as  ''  MatnichaSism," 
because"  in  Christiaba  tiittes  a  Persian  he'r^tic  named 
Maries  developed  if,  and  ehdeavored,  witli  partiftl 
success,  to  infect  Christianity  with  it.  It  is  to  be 
observed  that  Manich seism  does  not  teach  simply  that 
the  flesh  is  evil  when  over-indulged,  or  that  such  and 
such  an  act  is  evil  if  carried  to  excess,  but  that  the 


82  FOUR    YEARS  OF  NOVEL-READING. 

act  is  under  all  circumstances  hopelessly  wrong.  Mar- 
riage, to  the  Oriental  dualist,  is  as  wrong  as  what  is 
generally  recognized  as  immorality.  Eating  and  drink- 
ing are  only  to  be  just  tolerated  because  suicide  is 
wrong,  and  a  man  is  bound  to  keep  liimself  alive. 
This  kind  of  thought  is  ever  reappearing,  and  the 
moralist  has  ever  to  be  on  his  watch  against  it.  It  is 
to  be  found  in  the  Puritanism  which  forbids  absolutely 
certain  pleasures,  such  as  music  and  dancing,  innocent 
in  themselves,  and  only  wrong  when  carried  to  excess, 
or  prostituted  to  low  uses.  An  illustration  of  it  is  to 
be  found  even  now  among  a  certain  class  of  temper- 
ance advocates,  who  hold  that  to  touch  a  di'op  of  in- 
toxicating liquor  is  under  all  circumstances  sinful. 
Such  a  system  of  thought  is  pernicious,  not  only  be- 
cause it  is  in  itself  false,  but  because  in  history  it  has 
always  been  known  to  produce  violent  reactions  into 
the  opposite  extremes  of  vice  and  license.  It  is  a 
demon  which  has  been  exorcised  over  and  over  again, 
but  which  is  ever  reappearing.  Now,  it  is  the  asceti- 
cism which  founds  itself  on  principles  such  as  these, 
which  is  bad.  It  makes  a  vain  attempt  to  eradicate 
natural  appetites  and  affections  which  are  given  to 
mankind  for  a  certain  purpose,  and  are  only  bad  when 
uncontrolled  and  indulged  under  unlawful  circum- 
stances. Christians  who  are  misled  into  an  asceticism 
of  this  type  are  false  to  their  own  principles ;  for  they 
forget  that  the  God  whom  they  serve  created  the  body 


THE  IDEAL   OF  ASCETICISM.  83 

as  well  as  the  soul,  and  that  the  Son  of  God  has  dig- 
nified the  body  by  living  an  incarnate  life.  It.  was 
only  the  extreme-  wickedness  and  degradation  that  re- 
sulted from  tlie  decay  of  a  great  civilization  which 
made  such  an  asceticism  possible  in  the  Christian 
church.  Certain  numbers  of  early  Christians,  flying 
in  horror  from  the  revolting  immorality  of  the  world 
about  them,  ran  into  this  opposite  extreme.  A  better 
type  of  monasticism  did,  as  has  been  shown,  grow  up ; 
but  monasticism  has  hardly  ever  been  wholly  free 
from  this  Manicheean  taint. 

It  is  characteristic,  also,  of  a  monasticism  thus  tainted, 
that  it  holds  strange  and  false  theories  as  to  the  meri- 
toriousness  of  acts  of  self-denial  and  mortification. 
Such  acts  come  to  be  regarded,  not  merely  as  part  of 
a  discipline  intended  to  school  the  individual  for  cer- 
tain noble  ends,  but  as  in  themselves  meritorious.  So 
much  mortification  will  buy  off  so  much  purgatoiy 
hereafter.  A  certain  amount  of  needless  pain  suf- 
fered on  earth  acquires  thus  a  commercial  value,  and 
represents  so  much  purchasing  power  for  pleasure  in 
heaven. 

The  asceticism  based  on  a  good  principle  I  have 
called  athletic,  and  for  this  reason.  Asceticism  is  a 
word  derived  from  the  Greek  word,  ao-Kryo-tg  (askesis), 
which  means  "training,"  or  "practice,"  and  generally 
athletic  training.  So  athletic  asceticism  is,  in  fact, 
an  asceticism  which  is  true  to  its  name.     It  treats  the 


84  FOUR   YEARS  OF  NOVEL-READING. 

body,  not  as  something  inherently  evil,  but  as  an  instru- 
ment, a  useful  servant  given  for  high  purposes ;  but  to 
be  carefully  kept  in  order  lest  it  become  the  master; 
to  be  kept  in  good  trim  for  its  master's  use.  '^  I  keep 
under  my  body  and  bring  it  into  subjection,"  says  St. 
Paul ;  or,  more  literally,  *^  I  buffet  my  body  and  lead  it 
about  as  a  slave."  According  to  this  principle,  the  body 
is  to  be  disciplined,  not  crushed ;  the  whole  man  is  to 
be  developed ;  nothing  is  in  itself  to  be  called  common 
or  unclean.  The  bad  asceticism  tried  vainly  to  crush  the 
bodily  affections,  family  ties,  and  the  intellect.  The  good 
asceticism  seeks  to  control  by  inflexible  but  rational 
laws  the  bodily  affections,  to  sanctify  family  ties,  and  to 
consecrate  the  intellect  to  the  highest  possible  pursuits. 
It  is  difficult  to  imagine  a  character  more  opposed  to 
the  bad  asceticism  than  that  of  Gerard  in  The  Cloister 
and  the  Hearth.  His  nature  is  all  aglow  with  family 
affections  of  a  noble  type,  as  seen  in  his  love  for  his 
parents,  and  in  his  pure  passion  for  Margaret.  His 
artistic  sensibilities  are  keen  and  highly  trained ;  and  he 
is  drawn  to  the  church,  not  only  by  his  deep  piety,  but 
by  his  strong  scholarly  instincts,  which  make  him  such 
a  delightful  character  to  study.  The  course  of  reckless 
vice  through  which  he  went  in  Rome,  and  the  opposite 
extreme  of  fantastic  asceticism  by  which  he  tried  to 
master  himself  in  the  cave  at  Gouda,  were  but  episodes, 
bad  dreams,  brought  about  by  strong  revulsions  of 
feeling  which,  temporarily  overmastered  him. 


THE  IDEAL   OF  ASCETICISM.  85 

There  is  a  good  deal  of  hard  hitting  at  monks  and 
their  ways  in  the  book ;  but  it  should  be  remembered 
that  the  monastic  system  is  shown  in  its  pages  to  pro- 
duce its  attractive  as  well  as  its  hard  and  relentless 
characters  —  its  Anselm  as  well  as  its  Jerome;  and  it 
did  much  in  a  dark  and  turbulent  age  for  the  protection 
and  propagation  of  learning  and  scholarship,  without 
which  Gerard  and  Masfnus  Erasmus  could  never  have 
lived  before  us,  the  one  in  fiction,  and  the  other  in 
history. 

But  the  object  of  the  book  is,  of  course,  to  write  down 
the  celibacy  of  the  clergy.  We  should  know  that  well 
enough  without  that  infelicitous  sentence  and  dread- 
ful foot-note  before  alluded  to ;  but  we  must  return  to 
them  for  a  moment  to  see  how  our  subject  of  the  ascetic 
ideal  is  affected  by  the  question  of  the  celibacy  of  the 
clergy.  Charles  Reade  states  his  case  in  too  summary 
and  hasty  a  fashion.  He  forgets  that  there  were  sound 
and  rational  motives  at  work,  as  well  as  unsound  and 
mistaken  ones,  among  those  who  brought  about  the 
enforced  celibacy  of  the  clergy  in  the  Latin  Church. 
There  is  a  distinct  call  for  celibate  clergy,  for  certain 
purposes.  In  certain  spheres  of  the  church's  work,  es- 
pecially in  missionary  work,  and  in  some  parts  of  large 
cities,  the  work  of  celibate  priests  will  be  obviously 
more  effective,  more  free  and  unhampered,  than  that  of 
married  clergy,  with  the  impediments  of  a  wife  and 
family.     A  man  who  takes  up  this  class  of  work  must 


86  FOUR    YEARS   OF  NOVEL-READING, 

be  like  a  soldier  equipped  for  active  service,  and  he 
will  be  missing  his  vocation  if  he  does  anything  to 
make  himself  a  less  effective  instrument  for  the  work. 
He  is  called  to  greater  self-denial  than  other  men.  But 
any  system  which  teaches  that  marriage  is  essentially  a 
lower  state  than  celibacy,  and  therefore  requires  that 
those  who  are  employed  for  sacred  functions  must  not 
so  far  degrade  themselves  as  to  marry,  is  but  involved 
once  again  in  the  oft-exorcised  dualism,  and  is  confound- 
ing things  wrong  in  themselves  Avith  things  wrong  only 
under  certain  circumstances.  Such  teaching  is  tainted 
with  the  old  poison  of  Manichaeism  over  again,  which 
takes  a  low  view  of  marriage,  making  it  only  less  bad 
than  direct  immorality. 

No  asceticism  is  true  wliich  does  not  contemplate  the 
development  of  the  whole  man  in  the  best  and  fullest 
sense.  It  will  not  trample  wliat  is  merely  earthly, 
but  it  recognizes  the  need  of  discipline  in  the  inter- 
ests of  something  higlier.  The  lower  jiature  is  to 
be  kept  rigorously  under  control;  to  be  denied  and 
repressed  when  its  assertion  conflicts  with  the  higher, 
and  demands  a  satisfaction  wliich  circumstances  make 
unlawful.  For,  after  all,  asceticism  is  but  the  proper 
recognition  of  a  higher  element  than  that  which  is 
merely  animal ;  and  therefore  will  not  allow  an  un- 
regulated or  excessive  pursuit  of  any  pleasure,  how- 
ever innocent  it  may  be  in  itself.  It  is  the  call  to 
sacrifice.     Robert  Browning  has  some  noble,  but  char- 


THE  IDEAL   OF  ASCETICISM.  87 

acteristically  awkward    expressions  on  the  subject  in 
Rahhi  Ben  Ezra :  — 

"  Poor  vaunt  of  life  indeed 
Were  man  but  formed  to  feed 
On  joy,  to  solely  seek  and  find  and  feast; 
Such  feasting  ended,  then 
As  sure  an  end  to  men ; 

Irks  care  the  crop-full  bird  ?    Frets  doubt  the 
maw-crammed  beast  ? 

Then  welcome  each  rebuff 
That  turns  earth's  smoothness  rough, 
Each  sting  that  bids,  nor  sit,  nor  stand,  but  go! 
Be  our  joy  three-parts  pain ! 
Strive,  and  hold  cheap  the  strain ; 
Learn,  nor  account  the  pang ;  dare,  never  grudge 
the  throe." 

To  sum  up  —  the  ideal  asceticism  is  not  a  useless  mor- 
tification pursued  for  its  own  ends,  but  a  discipline  with 
a  purpose  in  view.  The  ascetic  may,  in  certain  circum- 
stances, be  called  to  give  up  certain  family  ties ;  but  he 
will  not  consider  that  the  isolated  act  is  in  itself  merito- 
rious, and  he  will  not  underrate  or  take  a  low  view  of 
family  ties  for  others ;  while  recognizing  the  tempta- 
tions of  the  flesh  when  undisciplined,  he  will  not  insult 
his  body  by  needless  or  purposeless  severities.  A  young 
Northumbrian  poet  has  stated  the  case  well.  To  a 
Northumbrian  audience  it  will  be  of  interest  to  state 
his  name.  It  is  Lord  Warkworth,  who  has  this  year 
carried  off  the  Newdigate  prize  at  Oxford  with  a  poem 
on  St.  Francis  d'Assisi,  distinctly  above  the  ordinary 


88  FOUR   YEARS  OF  NOVEL-READING, 

level  of  prize  compositions.  Dealing  with  the  well- 
known  story  of  St.  Francis's  vision  of  the  stigmata  or 
marks  of  Christ's  passion,  he  puts  these  words  into  the 
mouth  of  the  saint :  — 

—  "  Then  I  understood 
The  vision:  '  In  my  flesh  should  I  see  God,'  — 
That  flesh  which  I  had  deemed  the  prison-cell 
That  clogs  th'  aspiring  soul ;  th'  unlovely  shell 
That  hides  the  young  life  of  the  tender  grain, 
Shall  in  transfigured  beauty  robe  again 
The  ripened  ears  of  harvest !    Strange  it  were, 
Did  pain  please  God,  who  made  His  world  so  fair! 
They  serve  Him  best  whose  kindled  spirits  move 
In  perfect  cadence  with  His  life  of  love." 

C.  G.  Hall. 


ESSAYS 


CHARACTER  DEVELOPMENT  IN  "ROMOLA" 


CHARACTER  DEVELOPMENT  IN  ^^ROMOLA' 


The  great  purpose  of  George  Eliot  in  Romola  is  to  j 
show  the  effect  of  circumstance  upon  the  development  / 
of  the  human  character. 

We  may  first  turn  aside  to  note  other  illustrations  of  \ 
character  development.  A  young  man,  who  has  hitherto  ! 
been  the  acknowledged  pattern  of  the  vilhige,  in  an  evil  / 
hour  gives  way  to  temptation,  and  finally  becomes  more  i 
dissolute  and  dangerous  than  all  his  neighbors.  This 
is  character  development^  —  a  character  not  assumed  or 
acted,  but  real  and  cultivated. 

Who  has  not  trembled  as  he  has  sat  within  the  soul 
of  Lady  Macbetli  while  the  terrible  storm  is  accumulat- 
ing ?  She  has  only  succeeded  in  acting  a  character, 
she  has  not  developed  one.  She  has  taken  intoxicating 
drink,  and  temporarily  succeeded  in  paralyzing  her 
higher  self ;  but  that  artificial  influence  has  gone,  and 
the  old  character  remains  inexorable.  Although  oppor- 
tunity has  inflamed  a  long  smouldering  ambition,  that 
ambition  has  failed  to  call  to  its  aid  any  embryonic 
character  germs.  The  higher  must  not  live,  the  lower 
nature  will  not  germinate  ;  and  that  which  happens  is 

91 


92  FOUR    YEARS  OF  NOVEL-READING. 

just  what  must  happen  under  the  circumstances.    Reason 
resigns  her  seat  in  the  conflict. 

The  more  we  think  of  the  vibrations  produced  by 
tempting  circumstance  upon  our  own  moral  natures, 
the  more  we  realize  the  truth  of  George  Eliot's  philos- 
ophy, and  the  subtlety  of  her  intellect.  Silas  Marner 
creeps  away  from  society  in  general  ;  it  seems  to  him 
that  the  world  is  so  incomprehensibly  big  and  myste- 
riously peopled.  Under  an  altered  environment  liis 
social  and  religious  proclivities  give  way  to  imbecile 
selfislmess.  While  his  character  thus  hardens  into  ab- 
stract avarice,  the  living  world  seems  to  have  no  exis- 
tence for  him,  except  as  a  mysterious  monster  tliat  gives 
him  gold  for  labor.  But  his  gold  at  length  is  stolen 
from  him,  and  now  there  is  nothing  for  that  silent  heart 
to  love  in  silence.  For  a  heart  tliat  has  the  germs  of 
love  in  it,  and  fails  to  find  another  heart  to  recipro- 
cate affection,  will  waste  its  sweetness  upon  the  inani- 
mate, or  it  will  burst.  So  it  was  with  Silas.  Sally  — 
faithless  Sally  —  first  opened  her  heart  to  his  love,  but 
shut  it  again;  and  we  find  that  when  Sally  is  no  more  to 
him  his  affection  becomes  transfused  to  love  of  wealth. 
But  another  accident  occui^s.  A  little  child,  whose 
mother  lies  dead  in  the  snow,  totters  into  the  cottage 
of  Silas  just  at  the  moment  when  life  seems  most  in 
tolerable.  And  what  happens?  From  that  moment 
poverty  becomes  bliss.  Here  at  once  is  a  substitute 
in  a  living  reality  for  the  lost   gold.     And  no  hand 


CHARACTER  DEVELOPMENT  IN  '' ROMOLA."     93 

better  than  George  Eliot's  could  have  shown  liow  won- 
derfully, yet  naturally,  the  buried  germs  of  a  long-dead 
life  bloom  forth  under  the  influence  of  this  child,  and 
how  Silas  tastes  the  fulness  of  a  great  character  in  his 
old  age. 

It  is  always  the  story  of  a  soul  she  tells.  We  are  in- 
stantly enveloped  in  a  pyschological  atmosphere ;  for 
while  some  writers  keep  one  in  the  outer  world,  and 
give  only  in  lightning  flashes  furtive  glances  into  the 
inner  life,  she  takes  us  there,  and  there  we  remain,  and 
thence  look  out  upon  the  surface  of  existence.  Who 
has  not  felt  as  though  he  dwelt  really  within  the  of- 
fended soul  of  Gwendolen,  who  married  for  gold  and 
position,  expecting  thereby  to  pacify  a  soul  left  celibate  ? 
But  outward  ease  did  not  bring  into  peace  ;  the  light- 
some innocence  of  her  character  becomes  displaced,  and 
dark  and  hitherto  unsuspected  thoughts  take  possession 
of  her  whole  being,  bubbling  forth  unbidden,  as  in- 
stincts do. 

In  Silas  Marner^  beautiful  and  complete  in  itself  as 
it  is,  we  have  only  the  preface,  to  which  Romola  is  the 
accomplished  fact.  While  Silas  Marner  is  perfect  in  its 
simplicity,  Romola  is  great  in  its  complexity.  We  must 
remember  the  stupendous  historic  background  of  the 
story — Florence  with  all  her  ancient  grandeur,  her 
teeming  inhabitants  with  their  cries  of  joy,  of  pain,  of 
hope,  of  revenge;  and  above  all  is  heard  the  clarion 
voice    of   Savonarola   rushing   through  the  Florentine 


94  FOUR    YEARS   OF  NOVEL-READING. 

soul  like  a  mad  rivei'.  All  this  gigantic  background 
is  conjured  up  to  show  —  what?  The  evolution  of  one 
beautiful  life ! 

Great  and  good  people  always  leave  their  souls 
behind  thein,  wliether  it  be  in  statuary,  or  books, 
or  deeds.  George  Eliot  has  left  her  living  soul  witli 
Romola.  A  statue  is  left  by  a  master  —  a  statue  with  a 
soul  in  it,  that  makes  us  feel  when  we  look  upon  it  as 
though  we  were  in  the  presence  of  an  extraordinary 
being.  Its  eyes  are  stone,  yet  they  gaze  down  into  the 
deep  recesses  of  our  being ;  no  affection  can  be  forced 
upon  it,  no  secret  can  be  hidden  from  its  siglit ;  we  dare 
not  touch  its  garment,  nor  utter  nor  think  an  unholy 
thought  in  its  presence.  As  such  a  statue  is  Romola 
introduced  to  us.  Her  silence  is  greater  than  elo- 
quence, and  her  coldness  comes  of  holiness.  She  is 
rigid,  yet  as  sensitive  as  the  sensitive  plant.  Slie  is 
touched  by  love, — blind  love, — and  the  whole  mechan- 
ism of  a  great  character  is  set  in  motion.  She  is 
touched  by  falsehood,  and  she  seems  to  return  to  marble 
again.  Romola's  inward  beauties  are  developed  in  ad- 
versity and  sorrow.  She  wrestles  with  her  poorer  self ; 
Tito  wrestles  with  his  higher  self.  Tito  deals  out  his 
soul  to  evade  unpleasant  duties,  only  to  find  that  the 
unperformed  remain  everlasting  debts  that  accumulate 
and  increase  unhappiness,  until  finally  all  pleasure  is 
swallowed  up,  and  life  becomes  a  wide,  trackless  waste 
of  misery. 


CHARACTER  DEVELOPMENT  IN  ''  ROMOLA^      95 

There  are  turning-points  in  all  our  lives  —  there  are 
"currents"  that  must  be  taken  when  they  ''serve,"  or 
the  most  important  opportunity  of  our  life  is  lost. 
There  is  often  much  that  is  unpleasant  to  perform  ere 
we  taste  a  morsel  of  real  happiness.  Pleasures  often 
come  only  from  outward  satisfaction ;  happiness  can 
only  come  from  the  soul.  Happiness  once  attained 
owes  much  of  its  sweetness  to  the  pain  that  has  been 
experienced  in  the  struggle  to  obtain  it;  for,  as  it  is 
stated  in  the  proem  to  Romola  :  — 

"  Little  children  are  still  the  symbol  of  the  eternal  mar- 
riage between  love  and  duty  ;  " 

and  — 

"Life  to  be  highest  must  be  made  up  of  conscious  vol- 
untary sacrifice." 

Here  is  Tito  at  a  point  where  lanes  meet  and  diverge. 
This  way  is  thorny,  but  the  soul  says,  "  Go ;  "  the 
other  way  is  apparently  pleasant,  but  it  leads  to  ruin. 
We  find  him  saying :  — 

"  Can  any  philosophy  prove  to  me  that  I  was  bound  to 
care  for  another's  sufferings  more  than  for  my  own  ?  .  .  . 
The  world  belongs  to  youth  and  strength,  and  these  glories 
are  his  who  can  extract  more  pleasures  out  of  them.  .  .  . 
Baldazzar  has  had  his  draught  of  life ;  ...  it  is  my  turn 


Thus  we   find   that,   when   the   presiding  will   of   his 
father  sits  no  longer  over  him,  Tito's  character  finds 


96  FOUR    YEARS  OF  NOVEL-READING. 

its  polarity  in  selfishness,  and  we  have  the  first  and 
all-important  glimmer  of  Tito  in  an  undreamed-of 
character. 

It  is  interesting  to  watch  how  with  wondrous  ra})id- 
ity  these  newly  awakened  germs  develop,  whilst  those 
wliicli  lay  uppermost  in  his  character  as  hitherto  known 
just  as  rapidly  drop  out  of  activity.  His  unconquer- 
able love  of  self,  his  horror  of  unpleasant  duties,  grad- 
ually crush  the  higher  manhood  out  of  him.  Tlie 
communings  with  the  soul  become  less  and  less  pro- 
tracted. Desire  becomes  the  master  of  conscience ;  and 
the  embodiment  of  truth  which  he  once  reverenced  in 
Romola  becomes  now  the  personification  of  an  inexor- 
able Nemesis.  Twin  sisters  are  cowardice  and  selfish- 
ness—  while  selfishness  is  ever  directing  the  nervous 
fingers  of  avarice,  cowardice  puts  in  every  crevice  of 
thought  a  skeleton. 

Yet  Romola  is  not  perfect ;  she,  too,  has  her  antipathy 
to  painful  duties.  But  while  he  shrinks  from  duty  be- 
cause of  its  unpleasantness,  and  is  conscious  of  the 
unrighteousness,  she  turns  from  duty  through  igno- 
rance. 

Romola  has  been  reared  in  a  world  of  dead  wisdom, 
yet  sh^  has  sucked  in  truth.  She  knows  the  book  of 
life  only  as  it  has  been  translated.  Tito  came  to  Iier 
with  liis  living  smiles  and  his  love  as  a  revelation. 
But  truth  has  gone  from  him,  and  she  can  no  longer 
love  him ;  and  loveless  cohabitation  is  to  lier  the  lowest 


CHARACTER  DEVELOPMENT  IN  '' ROMOLA:'     97 

depth  of  degradation.  She  would  fly  from  falsehood 
because  her  soul  abhors  it,  and  live  a  death  in  life. 
But  the  voice  of  Savonarola  arrests  her ;  and,  while  she 
fancies  that  hitherto  the  deepest  reaches  of  her  soul 
have  been  self-sounded,  she  is  convinced  ere  long  that 
that  which  she  accepted  as  holiness  in  the  abstract  was 
not  unsmitten  by  selfishness. 

"  What  has  your  dead  wisdom  done  for  you,  my  daugh- 
ter ?  It  has  left  you  without  a  heart  for  the  neighbours 
among  whom  you  dwell.  .  .  .  When  the  sword  has  pierced 
your  side,  you  say,  I  will  go  away ;  I  cannot  bear  my  sor- 
row. .  .  .  You  would  leave  your  place  empty,  when  it 
ought  to  be  filled  with  your  pity  and  your  labour.  If  there 
is  wickedness  in  the  streets,  your  steps  should  shine  with 
light  and  purity ;  if  there  is  a  cry  of  anguish,  you,  my 
daughter,  because  you  know  the  meaning  of  it,  ought  to  be 
there  to  still  it.  .  .  .  Sorrow  has  come  to  teach  you  a  new 
religion.  .  .  .  My  daughter,  every  bond  of  life  is  a  debt ; 
the  right  lies  in  the  payment  of  that  debt  —  it  can  lie 
nowhere  else." 

And  so  it  does.  Is  it  not  in  this  tendency  in  human 
character  to  fly  from  the  unpleasant,  and  the  bringing 
of  it  back  again  by  higher  and  more  powerful  influ- 
ences, that  the  hidden  virtues  of  characters  are  often 
called  into  permanent  activity?  Truly,  "no  man  or 
woman  can  choose  their  duties,  any  more  than  they 
can  choose  their  father,  or  mother,  or  birthplace." 

Thus  accident  has  given  Romola  another  and  a  truer 
and  wider  view  of  human  duties.     She  had  hitherto 


98  FOUR   YEARS  OF  NOVEL-READING. 

only  known  how  sweet  it  was  to  be  holy  as  defined  in 
keeping  one's  self  apart  from  that  which  is  unholy. 
But  holiness  must  now  have  no  root  in  selfhood. 
"Father,"  she  says,  "I  will  be  guided.  Teach  me.  I 
will  go  back."  Life,  to  be  rightly  lived,  must  not  con^ 
sist  in  doing  no  evil,  like  a  statue  in  a  busy  thorough- 
fare,  but  in  practising  a  religion  that  has  few  words 
and  many  deeds.  There  is  no  cathedral  so  beautiful  as 
one  white  soul ;  no  organ  so  expressive  as  one  honest 
voice ;  and  no  religion  more  holy  than  one  good  deed. 
No  man  exists  for  himself  alone,  and  a  life  has  not  ful- 
filled its  mission  unless  the  happiness  of  the  community 
is  increased  by  it.  There  is  no  abstraction ;  all  are 
links  to  one  great  chain  of  conscious  existence  ;  and  if 
we  sever  ourselves,  our  strength  is  as  naugh*/  to  us, 
for  we  gain  nothing,  and  the  purpose  of  oui-  life  is 
then  destroyed. 

As  a  stone  thrown  into  a  lake  causes  «very  drop  of 
water  to  be  affected,  so  an  accidental  circumstance  may 
prove  the  turning-point,  not  of  one,  but  of  many  lives. 
We  have  seen  how  Tito's  accident  became  the  •  begin- 
ning of  a  degenerate  life  —  a  starting-point  to  a  most 
beautiful  life  is  furnished  in  Romola.  But  in '  Baldaz- 
zer  the  case  is  different.  There  is  no  development  of  a 
sane  or  embryonic  character ;  intellectual  darkness  comes 
over  it,  relieved  now  and  then  with  flashes  of  memoiy, 
like  lightning  in  a  midnight  thunderstorm,  making 
only  two  projections  visible,  —  remorse  and  revenge. 


CHARACTER  DEVELOPMENT  IN  '' ROMOLA:'      99 

We  have  seen  how  beneath  the  magic  influence  of 
Savonarola  the  inward  majesty  of  Romola's  character 
comes  out;  for  during  the  pestilence,  wliere  there  is  a 
"cry  of  anguish,"  is  she  not  there  "to  still  it"?  and 
where  there  is  wickedness  in  the  streets,  do  not  "her 
steps  shine  with  light  and  purity"? 

Yet  another  great  change  comes  over  Romola.  The 
voice  of  Savonarola,  which  has  hitherto  swept  through 
her  soul  like  music  that  is  more  felt  than  heard,  has 
now  lost  its  power.  She  has  lost  her  faith  in  him  ;  and 
"  with  the  sinking  of  human  trust  the  dignity  of  life 
sinks  too ;  we  cease  to  believe  in  our  own  better  self, 
since  that  also  is  part  of  the  common  nature  which  is 
degraded  in  our  thought ;  and  all  finer  influences  of  the 
soul  are  dulled."  She  longed  for  repose  ;  she  was  tired 
of  the  weary  Avorld  ;  she  felt  "  the  spring  of  her  once 
active  piety  drjdng  up,"  and  again  her  egoism  of  self 
predominated.  Her  bonds  that  once  bound  her  to  Tito 
are  beyond  all  power  to  reunite.  "  It  is  too  late,  Tito," 
she  finally  says,  "  there  is  no  killing  the  suspicion  that 
deceit  has  once  begotten.  ...  I,  too,  am  a  human 
being.  I  have  a  soul  of  my  own  that  abhors  your 
actions.  Our  union  is  a  pretence  —  as  if  a  perpetual 
lie  could  be  a  sacred  marriage." 

Out  of  every  difliculty  Tito  comes  more  degraded. 
His  smile  becomes  slave  to  his  base  intrigues,  and  lines 
gather  and  deepen  about  his  mouth.  But  every  sorrow 
makes   Komola  more  radiant.      Her  "  barren  egoistic 


100  FOUR    YEARS  OF  NOVEL-READING. 

complainings  "  drift  her,  not  to  selfish  repose,  but  to  the 
very  place  where  a  great  soul  is  needed ;  and  the  truth 
of  Savonarola's  words  is  beautifully  confirmed :  — 

"  The  draught  is  bitter  on  the  lips.  But  there  is  a 
rapture  in  the  cup  —  there  is  the  vision  that  makes  all 
life  below  it  dross  forever." 

Thomas  Dawson. 


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Enoch  Arden,  and  notes.  This  volume  also  contains  the  text  of  Locksley 
Hall  and  Locksley  Hall  Sixty  Years  After,  with  analyses  and  notes. 

In  preparing  these  notes,  Tennyson  has  been  made  his  own  interpreter 
wherever  possible.  Brief  critical  extracts  are  given,  and  there  is  a  bibliog- 
raphy and  biographical  outline  of  Tennyson. 

Cloth,     152  pages.     Illustrated.     Price,  25  cents. 

PROLEGOMENA  TO  IN  MEMORIAM 

By  THOMAS  DAVIDSON,  LL.  D. 

The  author's  aim  has  been  to  bring  out  clearly  the  soul  problem  which 
forms  its  unity,  and  the  noble  solution  offered  by  the  poet.  The  work  is 
done  in  the  belief  that  In  Memoriam  is  not  only  the  greatest  English 
poem  of  the  century,  but  one  of  the  great  world  poems. 

The  index  of  the  poem  adds  to  the  resources  for  comparative  study. 
Cloth.     185  pages.     Price,  50  cents. 


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BOSTON  NEW    YORIt  CHICAGO 


MILTON 

Edited  by  ALBERT  PERRY  WALKER,   A.  M. 

PARADISE   LOST 

Books  I  and  II,  with  Selections  from  III,  IV,  VI,  VII 
and  X.  The  editor  has  discarded  notes  on  individual  words 
or  expressions,  and  embodied  the  information  needed  in  an 
Introduction  treating  the  popular,  scientific,  religious,  and 
mythological  conceptions  of  the  seventeenth  century  as  they 
appear  in  Milton's  poems.  In  interpreting  different  pas- 
sages, the  pupil  is  always  referred  to  that  part  of  the  Intro- 
duction which  will  disclose  to  him  the  meaning  of  the  text. 
Cloth.     282  pages.     Illustrated.     Price,  45  cents. 

PARADISE  LOST,  Books  I  and  II 

Contains  the  full  text  and  all  the  critical  matter  of  the  above 
volume  which  pertains  to  Books  I  and  II. 

Cloth.     198  pages.     Illustrated.     Price,  25  cents. 

SELECT    MINOR    POEMS 

Includes  A  Hymn  on  the  Nadvity,  L' Allegro,  II  Pen 
seroso,  Comus,  Lycidas,  and  Sonnets,  with  bibliography, 
introduction,  notes,  glossary  and  index. 

Cloth.     186  pages.     Illustrated.     Price,  25  cents. 

SELECTIONS  FROM  MILTON'S  POEMS 

Contains   Paradise   Lost,   I   and  II,  with  Selections  from 
Later  Books,  and  Select  Minor  Poems,  with  introduction, 
notes,  glossary,  etc.      Attractively  bound  in  one  volume. 
Dark  red  cloth.     395  pages.     Price,  50  cents. 

MACAULAY'S  ESSAY  ON  MILTON 

Provides  all  needful  aids  to  the  study  ©f  the  historical, 
literary,  and  critical  parts  ©f  this  essay.  The  introduction 
is  useful  for  reference,  and  the  notes  and  questions  will  prevent 
waste  of  time  in  deaUng  with  unimportant  matters  of  detail. 

Cloth.     166  pages.     Illustrated.     Price,  25  cents. 

D.    C.    HEATH    &    CO.,    Publishers 

BOSTON  NEW    YORK  CHICAGO 


A  SHORT  HISTORY  OF 

AMERICAN  LITERATURE 

By  WALTER  C.   BRONSON,  A.M., 
Professor    of    English    in    Brown    University 


This  book  is  at  once  scholarly  and  attractive,  adapted  to  the 
work  of  the  class  room,  yet  literary  in  spirit  and  execution. 

The  literature  of  each  period  has  been  presented  in  its  relation 
to  the  larger  life  of  the  nation,  and  to  the  Uteratures  of  England 
and  Europe,  for  only  so  can  American  literature  be  completely 
understood  and  its  significance  fully  perceived. 

The  writers  are  treated  with  admirable  critical  judgment. 
The  greater  writers  stand  out  strong  and  clean  cut  personalities. 
The  minor  are  given  brief,  but  clear,  treatment. 

While  the  book  lays  its  chief  emphasis  upon  matters  distinctly 
literary,  it  contains  exact  details  about  the  life  and  writings  of 
the  greater  authors,  and  is  abundantly  equipped  with  apparatus 
fcr  reference  and  study. 

The  Appendix  contains  nearly  forty  pages  of  extracts  fi-om 
the  best  but  less  accessible  colonial  writers,  and  valuable  notes 
concerning  our  early  newspapers  and  magazines,  a  bibliography 
of  Colonial  and  Revolutionary  literature,  and  an  index. 

'  No  other  manual  of  American  literature  says  so  much  so 
well  in  so  little  space. — Walter  H.  Page,  editor  of  The 
World's  Work,  recently  editor  of  The  Atlantic  Monthly. 

Cloth.    474  pages.     Price,  80  cents. 


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The   Divina   Commedia   and 
Canzoniere  of  Dante  Alighieri 

TRANSLATED    WITH    NOTES  AND    STUDIES,   BY  THE  LATE 

E.  H.  PLUMPTRE,  D.D.,  Bean  of  Wells 


The  industry,  erudition  and  sympathetic  imagination  of  the 
writer  place  a  large  accumulation  of  knowledge  at  the  disposal 
of  the  student  of  Dante,  and  fitly  complete  a  work,  regarding 
which  on  its  appearance  the  London  Spectator  observed  :  **  No 
book  about  Dante  has  been  published  that  will  stand  comparison 
with  Dean  Plumptre's.'* 

Churchman  (New  York)  : — The  Dean  has  enriched  the  English  language 
and  English  literature  with  a  translation  which  we  do  not  doubt  will  efface 
all  other  translations. 

The  Pall  Mall  Ga-zette  :  —  Dean  Plumptre's  exact  learn-ng,  indomitable  in- 
dustry, and  exhaustive  investigation  are  beyond  praise.  He  often  surprises 
us  and  sometimes  amazes  us  by  his  skilful  and  felicitous  rendering  of 
Dante's  thought  in  Dante's  own  expression  and  metre. 


A  NEW  EDITION  IN  FIVE  VOLUMES 

FoL  i. —  Hell.     Foi.  H. — Purgatory.     FoL  Hi. —  Paradise. 
FoL  iv. — -  Minor  Poems.      Fol.  v. — -Studies. 

Each  "volume  ivith   Frontispiece^   and  Index  of  subject  and  names. 

Library    Edition:  —  Limp  cloth,    extra  gilt  lettered,- gilt  tops,   uncut   edges. 

Price  per  set,  ^4.00. 
Students'"   Edition:  —  Cloth,    i6mo,  uniform  with  Heath's   English   Classics. 

Price  per  single  volume,  50  cent5. 


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AN  INTRODUCTION  TO   THE 

Study  of  English  Fiction. 

By  WILLIAM  EDWARD  SIMONDS,  Ph.D. 

Professor  of  English  Literature,  Knox  College. 

ENGLISH  fiction  is  eminently  worthy  of  the  attention  of  the  stu- 
dent of  literature,  and  the  history  of  its  development  is  a  sub- 
ject not  unsuited  to  the  methods  of  the  class-room.  The  purpose 
of  this  volume  is  to  provide  material  for  a  comparative  study  of  our 
fiction  in  its  successive  epochs,  and  for  an  intelligent  estimate  of  the 
characteristics  and  merits  of  our  story-tellers  in  the  various  stages  of 
their  art.  The  book  is  inductive  in  plan.  A  brief  historical  outline 
is  presented  in  five  introductory  chapters  which  bear  the  following 
titles:  L  Old  English  Story  Tellers.  IL  The  Romance  at  the 
Court  of  Elizabeth.  IIL  The  Rise  of  the  Novel.  IV.  The  Per- 
fection of  the  Novel.  V.  Tendencies  of  To-day.  VI.  Books  for 
Reference  and  Reading.  These  chapters  are  followed  by  twelve 
texts  illustrative  of  the  different  periods  described.  These  selections 
are:  i.  Beowulf.  II.  King  Horn.  III.  Arcadia.  IV.  Forbonius 
and  Prisceria  (entire).  V.  Doron's  Wooing.  VI.  Shepherds' 
"Wives'  Song.  VII.  Jack  Wilton.  VIII.  Euphuism  (from  "  A 
Margarite  of  America").  IX.  Moll  Flanders.  X.  Pamela.  XI. 
Tom  Jones.     XII.  Tristram  Shandy. 

P.  J.  Purnival,  The  Shakespearian,  London,  England :  I'm  glad  yeu've 
written  on  fiction.  It  is  the  greatest  power  in  literature  now,  and  has  been  the 
Jeast  studied  scientifically.     You've  done  the  right  thing. 

R.  Q.  Moulton,  Professor  of  Literature  in  English,  University  of  Chieago: 
You  are  rendering  a  great  service  to  literary  education  in  recognizing  fiction  as  a 
field  for  inductive  treatment.  The  arrangement  of  the  work  will  greatly  increase 
its  practical  usefulness. 

doth.    240  pages.    80  cents. 

^r/V/«r  £<fi//V?f. :::- Without  illustrative  selection*. 
Boards.     91  pages.     50  ttnts. 


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UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 

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